Always the Beginning of Something
by BlueWater5
Summary: Old prejudices still exist when Severus Snape's son starts Hogwarts. Students in the next generation have to come to grips with the past and overcome the challenges left by their parents. Not all will succeed.
1. When an Owl is Not an Owl

_As much as I wish it to be so, I am not JK Rowling. _

_A/N: This is a stand-alone tale, but is a sequel to my stories "Dragon Plague" and "Antidote to Darkness." I anticipate a total of eight chapters with weekly updates._

"The end is never the end. It's always the beginning of something." - Kate Lord Brown, The Perfume Garden

Chapter 1 – When an Owl is Not an Owl

Minerva McGonagall briskly strode down what some would describe as a perfectly ordinary street, passing small, unremarkable houses. Any observant muggle saw a distinguished woman dressed in a slightly out of fashion dress and wearing sensible shoes. Where Minerva was going was also perfectly ordinary – at least to any British witch or wizard. The Hogwarts Headmistress smiled to herself as she arrived at the address shown on the letter in her hand. She walked up the pathway and knocked firmly at the door.

The woman who opened the door was short, with shoulder length wavy brown hair and blue eyes that lit up when she saw who had come. "Minerva!" she exclaimed in a soft Irish lilt, "I was hoping we'd see you before school began!"

A thunder of footsteps grew louder until a lanky boy of eleven appeared from the hallway. He brushed his black hair away from his dark eyes and anxiously looked up at the familiar face. "Headmistress! Did you know it's my birthday today?" he asked excitedly. "I'm expecting a letter from the school. Did you spot any owls heading this way?" he added as he searched the sky.

"Stephen!" chided his mother gently. "Mind your manners. Let's invite the Headmistress in and ask how she's doing before you start any interrogation."

Minerva smiled. "Ach, it's fine, Nuala. It's not every day that a young lad receives his invitation to attend the finest wizarding school in the world." She turned to the boy. "No, I didn't see any owls." At the boy's crestfallen expression, she added. "But I might just happen to have a letter addressed to a certain Stephen Snape." She raised her hand with the much anticipated letter in it.

"Brilliant!" the boy whispered, barely audible as he looked at the envelope. He reached for it with slightly shaking hands.

Nuala shook her head, but smiled gently. "Won't you come in, Minerva, and have a spot of tea?"

"I'd love to." As the three walked towards the kitchen, Severus joined them, drying his hands on a towel. "Headmistress, you're a welcome surprise," he said dryly. He looked down at his son still holding the envelope in his hand, staring at it, and then back to Minerva. "I assume you played owl?"

"Da!" Stephen began, "It's …" He was interrupted as a young boy came barreling into the room. "Mum! I'm hungry."

Nuala looked fondly at her son. "Come join us, Patrick. We were just about to have some tea and biscuits in the kitchen. Wash your hands. Then congratulate your brother – he just received an important letter."

"Let me see, Stephen!" The younger boy jumped up trying to reach the letter which Stephen now held above his head. "'C'mon, let me see it!"

Stephen gave Patrick a slight push. "In a moment. Let me read it first."

"Go ahead and open it, boyo" urged Nuala as she put the tea kettle on the stove.

Stephen took a deep breath and carefully broke the seal. A wide smile broke out on his face. "Dear Mr. Snape. We are pleased to inform you …"

Nuala embraced her son in a snug hug. "I knew you'd be going, son. I'm proud of you."

When Severus and Minerva added their congratulations, Patrick chimed in with a "Yay, Stephen."

Nuala took out the plates as the others sat down at the small table. Stephen stared at the letter until he had it memorized. Patrick took a look at it, but decided it was boring and went to wash his hands. Severus faced Minerva. "Thank you for delivering the letter in person. Stephen could hardly sleep last night even though I told him there was no doubt he'd get his letter today."

Minerva smiled, and took a biscuit. "It's nice to have an excuse to leave the castle. It's too quiet during the summer. Filius can certainly handle anything that comes up this morning."

"I assume the professors will be returning next week," Severus stated.

Minerva nodded. "Hagrid and Aurora spent the summer at the castle, as always."

Severus reached for a biscuit and put it in front of Stephen, who was still staring at his prized letter. "Aurora always did say it's the best place to observe the stars with it being so far away from any muggle lights."

"Neville, of course, pops in almost every other day from Hogsmeade to tend to the greenhouses," Minerva went on. "Bill has been a frequent visitor over the summer as well as he prepares to assume his additional role of Gryffindor Head of House. He certainly has the DADA curriculum down pat by now."

"Does he have any trouble teaching any of his Weasley and Potter nephews and nieces?" Severus asked out of curiosity.

"Not at all. In fact, because he knows them so well they can't get away with anything." She snorted. "None are them are as bad as Fred and George were with their pranks."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "That you know of, anyway," he smirked. "Have you been satisfied with how Warmson is teaching Transfiguration?"

Minerva swallowed. "Aye. It was hard to give up teaching, but since I had to turn over the position because my Headmistress duties were becoming too much on top of it, I was pleased that Hecate was available. She's talented and can relate to the students being young herself. How about you, Severus? You can't tell me you don't miss it."

Snape scoffed. "Hogwarts, yes. Teaching, no. Too many dunderheads don't care about learning. I'm happy brewing potions at home." He reached over and gently put his hand on top of Nuala's.

Nuala shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here when the wee ones display accidental magic. Usually it's something little, like finding a stuffed animal zooming across the room, but once in a while I'll find something destroyed, especially when the boys get into it." She gave Stephen a glare.

Stephen broke out of the stupor he'd been in since opening the letter. "Ah, mum. It was only once or twice, and it was Patrick's fault that …"

"Hush now, boyo. Don't air dirty laundry in front of guests," Nuala admonished. She got up to get bring the tea to the table.

"Does Felix ever contact you about the Slytherins?" Minerva asked Severus, breaking the awkward silence.

Severus Summoned a bottle of chocolate milk from the fridge and two plastic cups from the cupboard. Directing the milk into the cups, he nodded. "Now and then. Pucey also owls me periodically to ask about potion articles." He smirked. "I never tell him when I'm the author and using a pseudonym. I do mention how brilliant the research is." He looked over at Stephen. "I expect you to express no knowledge of the fact either," he continued firmly.

Stephen nodded vigorously. "Aye, Da. And no showing off or being a know-it-all, no matter how tempting it is. And no unsupervised potions work."

"Exactly. Mind your professors." Severus' face was stern.

From down the hall came a soft cry, and Nuala got up to fetch the baby.

Stephen eagerly turned to Minerva as he remembered a pressing question. "Is Flinn Fleet going to be the new flying instructor? I heard he was being scouted for the position in Quidditch Quarterly. He'd be brilliant – took England five times to the European Championship and twice to the World Cup. Did you know he has a Chaser's move named after him?"

Minerva smiled at Stephen's enthusiasm. "Aye, he signed the contract several weeks ago. He has lots of exciting ideas for the year."

Severus looked at his son strictly. "Remember – First Years can't bring their own brooms and aren't allowed on the House Quidditch teams." He glared pointedly at Minerva, who looked slightly guilty as she remembered the well-known exception she had made in the past in her exuberance of discovering a naturally talented new seeker.

Stephen nodded firmly. "But I'm going to practice as much as I can so I'll be sure to make the team Second Year."

"Can I ride your broom while you're gone?" asked Patrick suddenly.

"Absolutely not," responded Severus and Stephen together. "If you're good, I'll get you a training broom when you turn six, just as I did for Stephen. Flying is dangerous if you don't know what you're doing," Severus added. He made a mental note to put Stephen's broom behind strong wards. He turned back to Minerva. "I heard that this may be Vector's last year."

Minerva took a sip of tea. "Aye, I'll confirm that rumor. I'll be looking for a replacement for Septima during the year. Let me know if you hear of a good candidate." She grimaced. "Padma tells me that I won't find the ideal candidate until just after the summer solstice. I'd hate to just start salary negotiations then. It would put me in a bind if we can't come to an agreement."

Severus frowned. "Divination is never cut and dry. I know Miss Patil is far better at reading portents than Trelawney ever was, but it's somehow it's usually only after the fact that what the omen is trying to tell us becomes clear."

Minerva sighed. "That's why I hope she's misreading the signs. At least Padma knows that teaching Divination to those without an innate talent is a waste of time and weeds out students quickly. Her classes tend to be very small."

Nuala returned with Fianna in her arms. Minerva stood up. "Just in time! I need to be getting back to the school, but may I hold the wee bairn for a bit?"

Smiling, Nuala handed her over. "Of course! It's always lovely having you over. Please stop by anytime for a cup of tea when you need a break."  
Minerva beamed as she hugged the baby. She kissed the crown of Fianna's head and reluctantly handed her back. She looked down at Stephen. "I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. I know you'll do well at Hogwarts, and have a great time." She gave him a mock glare. "I just don't want to see you too often in my office, now."

"You won't," Severus responded as he put his hand firmly on his son's shoulder.

"No, ma'am," confirmed Stephen. "That's another of Da's rules," he said with a sigh. Minerva had the impression that he'd had to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Minerva snorted. "You'll do fine. Nuala, Severus, thank you for the tea. Stephen, see you soon. Patrick, mind your folks, now." She walked briskly down the walk, and by the time she got to the Apparition point her soft pop could not be heard by the Snapes.

ABSABSABS

The next two weeks passed agonizingly slowly to Stephen but all too quickly for his parents. At Severus' insistence, the first stop on the family trip to Diagon Alley was the bookstore to buy the required textbooks and where Stephen used his own money to buy _Quidditch Quality Moves_. After that was a stop at The Magical Menagerie.

"Wow," Patrick breathed as he caught sight of a particularly large Eurasian eagle-owl. "Can we get that one?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Rather ostentatious, wouldn't you agree, Stephen?"

Stephen took a last regretful look at it. "Aye, it is." He turned his attention to an inconspicuous tawny owl. "How about this one, Da?"

Snape nodded. "What will you name him?"

Stephen eyed the cage as they left the shop. "Mum, how do you say 'smart' in Irish?"

Nuala nodded approvingly. "That will be a fine name for your friend. Ciallmhar."

"Ciallmhar," repeated Stephen slowly, liking the sound of it as it rolled out his mouth. "Ciallmhar," he said again, this time reaching through the cage to scratch his new owl under its chin. The owl softly hooted in approval.

Stephen was distracted from his new friend when Patrick pulled his arm. "What did Da mean by 'stayshus'?" he asked his older brother in a whisper.

Both boys were awed by Ollivander's Wand Shop. At the fourth try, Stephen found his wand, an eleven inch Applewood with a White River Monster spine as its core.

At hearing this, Nuala was alarmed. "A monster? I don't like the sound of that!"

Quirino Ollivander, Garrick's son, reassured her. "Not to worry! The White River Monster is merely a type of magical fish. Your son is very fortunate that this rare type of wand chose him. It suits a boy with high aims and ideals. You have a lad here with a promising future."

Nuala nodded thoughtfully, "He does want to be the youngest Potions Master ever, and a star Quidditch player."

Quirino laughed as he boxed up the wand. "Most children want the latter. It's the former that's more unusual."

"Aye, but he takes after his father."

Severus nodded proudly. "But we'll support his decision should he decide to go into another field," he said, ruffling Stephen's hair. "He'll need a wand holster as well."

Stephen was unusually quiet as they made their way to the floo at the Leaky Cauldron and from there back home. That evening, after a nudge from Nuala, Severus knocked on Stephen's bedroom door. He sat down on the desk chair and looked at his son sprawled out on the bed. "Is anything bothering you?"

"Nah. Well … maybe." Stephen absentmindedly played with a loose thread on his quilt. "Da … you said you'd support me even if I don't become a Potions Master. Did you really mean it?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I do. I have to admit I'd be surprised because you've been eager to help me brew potions since you were six and have shown a natural instinct for understanding the properties of various ingredients. I'd encourage you not to make a final decision about Potions until your Fifth Year. You have to take Potions until then anyway, and …"

"No, Da. It's not that. I do want to become a Potions Master. It's just … what if I don't get into Slytherin? Would you be disappointed?"

Severus moved over to the bed and sat next to Stephen. He pulled his son to his side. "Every house has its good points and its bad points. Good wizards have come from every house, as have evil ones. I'll be happy wherever you're sorted. I suspect you would fit into any of the Houses. You're ambitious, which is very Slytherin, but you're also loyal to your friends, which is a Hufflepuff trait; smart and curious, which mean you'd fit in well in Ravenclaw; and can be daring, which is typical of Gryffindors." He paused. "I'm a proud Slytherin, but in some ways it would be easier for you to be in a different house, and not be burdened by my reputation."

"You mean from the war? But you're a hero! Even Mr. Potter says so, and he's a Gryffindor."

"You'll find many people who disagree with Potter's opinion. It's been a generation since the war ended, but people have long memories and associated prejudices. Many students will have grown up hearing about relatives lost, and not just to the Death Eaters, but also to Ministry Aurors if their family supported the Dark Lord. That's why I need you to promise me that you'll strictly mind the rules. They're there to keep you safe. More importantly, if people see you breaking those rules, they'll be quick to judge you based on their negative opinion of me and you may get a reputation you may never recover from. It's not fair, but life's not fair."

Pausing to collect his thoughts, Severus absentmindedly rubbed his left forearm. "Peer pressure can be a terrible thing if it results in you making bad decisions. Stephen, we've tried to raise you to think for yourself and to consider the impact of your words and actions. I made one thoughtless comment when I was sixteen and the effects cascaded, causing me to make a terrible decision which still affects my life today. If someone had stopped me at any point along the way, my life would have been much easier. If you know you're getting too deep into something, let someone in authority know before it's too late."

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_Please review! _

_My thanks to my husband for being my beta, and to the marvelous writer excessivelyperky for her encouragement._


	2. A Seer and a Song

Chapter 2 – A Seer and a Song

The Headmistress tapped her wand on the pile of letters on her ornate wooden desk and sent them off to the Owlery to be delivered to each of the school's Governors to let them know the school was ready for the students. She sighed and stood up to stretch. Walking over to the window, she looked out. For now, only one or two people wandered through the grounds. That would change in another day. She smiled to herself. She always looked forward to the new school year, seeing how returning students had fared over the summer and welcoming new ones into what would be their second home for the next seven years. The school was as prepared as it could be.

A small statue to the right of the door to the stairs down cleared its throat to catch her attention. "There's a professor who just gave the password to the George," it announced. "Polite lass."

McGonagall sighed. "Which professor? I have said repeatedly I like more information as to the people who give the password to the gargoyle."

"The Divination one," the statue replied in an offended tone. "I do believe I hear …"

A knock at the door interrupted it. With a wave of her hand, McGonagall opened the door. "Padma, come in!" Seeing the troubled look on the professor's face, she motioned to the chairs before the fireplace, with the flowers on the patterns slowly blooming before fading, only to regrow once again. "I was just thinking that I could use a bit of tea. Would you like to join me?"

Padma looked grateful. "Thank you, Headmistress. I was so busy that I missed lunch."

"Miffy!" McGonagall called out.

A small house elf appeared. "The Headmistress would like something from Miffy?" she said in a high pitched voice.

"Yes, please. A pot of Ceylon tea and some blueberry scones, if you will."

"Right away, Headmistress." With a snap of the house elf's fingers, the refreshments appeared on the table. "Would the Headmistress like anything else?"

"That's fine for now Miffy, thank you." The house elf disappeared.

The two witches sat down. "After six years of teaching here, preparations for the new school year should be old hat to you," McGonagall said as she poured the tea into the cups.

Padma picked up a cup and took time to savor the aroma. "It's certainly much easier than my first year. I still remember the terror I felt, wondering if I'd made a huge mistake in returning here. The night before classes began, I woke Parvati up and asked if she'd take my place, hoping that no one would notice. I told her she was the brave Gryffindor and far better suited to teach the rowdy children."

Minerva chuckled. "And what did she say?"

"She said that as a Ravenclaw I was smart enough to know that she'd be caught out within a day. Then Parvati told me that she was confident that I would be a great professor and promptly shut the floo."

"And she was right. You've been doing a marvelous job."

Padma looked away. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Minerva broke the brief silence which followed. "I'm not a seer, but I'm guessing that you're not here just to enjoy these marvelous scones."

Padma took a deep breath. "I know you rail against vague signs and that the omens of the black clouds last year weren't able to help you prepare for the dragon plague which struck. But last night I was going over some basic exercises and didn't like the results. So I tried a different method. Same results. And then a third time. It didn't matter – cartomancy, tessomancy, crystal-gazing – the same dark omens."

McGonagall put down her cup. "What could you see? Was it overwhelming?"

"Not a vast obscurity, no. But I did see darkness, fear, and death."

The Headmistress stilled. "Nothing more? No details?"

Padma shook her head. "The Grim appeared each of the three times I looked into the future."

McGonagall drummed her fingers. "Did you get any sense of when this death would come about?"

Again, Padma shook her head. "I'm sorry Headmistress."

The Headmistress sighed. "What you foretell could be years off. There's nothing to be done about it now."

Padma nodded reluctantly. She couldn't explain the nagging feeling she had that something bad would happen sooner rather than later, but she knew her prediction was vague enough that the Headmistress could do very little about it even if she thought the death would happen tomorrow. "I'll keep trying to refine the prediction," she reassured the Headmistress. After a few more minutes of idle conversation, Padma returned to her tower, resolved to determine what the Grim was trying to tell her.

After she left, the portrait behind the Headmistress' desk seemed to wake up, but knowing Albus Dumbledore, McGonagall suspected he'd been listening in the whole time. Her assumption was born out; Albus' portrait began to speak. "I fear once again you may have a more exciting year that you wish for, Minerva."

McGonagall banished the tea set and empty plates. "I thought last year was the worst I would see – all those innocent deaths due to dragon plague," she said morosely. Returning to her desk, she sat down ungracefully, unlike her usual self. "I've always hated prophesies. What they portend always seems so evident in hindsight. Omens are even worse. Is a Grim a sign of death, or does fear of the Grim cause people to alter their plans resulting in carelessness? Is it even really a Grim, or is it a horse, signifying luck? Perhaps someone is planning to leave the school a large endowment. We could use new brooms."

"We can hope, Minerva." Albus popped a painted lemon drop into his mouth. "Isn't it marvelous how magic refills my candy dish whenever it's needed?" He licked his fingers. "And it's so nice not having to worry about being all proper. Anyway, it never hurts to be cautious. After all, even Sybill Trelawney occasionally read the cards and tea leaves correctly, and Padma has been shown to be far more accurate. I believe she beat Sybill's total record of correctly read signs in less than a year."

McGonagall snorted. "That's not hard." She sighed as she sat back in her chair. "At least what Padma has foreseen seems to be limited in scope. After a quarter century of peace, I've noticed people getting sloppy, confident that St. Mungo's can fix all damages. They've forgotten that magic can't fix everything. I'm sure Padma has foreseen some terrible accident. I'll warn the professors to be diligent about practicing safety. I still have nightmares about seeing the two little First Years lying at the bottom of the stairs after they shifted suddenly a few years ago."

ABSABSABS

Despite her confident words to Dumbledore, McGonagall felt a frisson of fear as the first students began to enter the Great Hall. She'd been pondering the omens Padma had seen. As much as she hated to admit it, portents sometimes were clear indicators of what was to come. She couldn't help but wonder if a prank would go too far or a Quidditch game get too violent. Only the arrival of Filius with the First Years diverted her attention. She smiled as she spotted the tall, dark haired boy looking eagerly around at the edge of the students as the Sorting Hat began to sing:

To students both old and new,

Welcome to the Great Hall!

Here you'll eat and drink and play.

Listen, and I'll tell you all.

When Hogwarts was built those years ago,

By Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,

The founders decided to create four Houses,

And into each I would chose who to put in.

Let me peer into your mind,

You'll see I'm never wrong.

For you I'll choose a new family.

I'll place you where you belong.

To Gryffindor I will place the courageous,

Those determined to do what is right.

But bravery can become recklessness,

And tempers lead to unneeded fights.

To Hufflepuff I will send the loyal,

The hard workers, those who are true.

But beware – loyalty can be to the undeserving

And for naught if unwilling to consider the new.

To Ravenclaw I will sort the studious,

The curious, the witty, the wise.

But the arrogant can be led astray

And serve those who deal in lies.

To Slytherin I send the ambitious,

Those who do anything to reach their aim.

But if they consider only themselves,

In the end they may lose the entire game.

Fear not, as no one is truly one type,

Each is a combination of the four.

Remember that all of you are part

Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor.

Now into a House you will go.

New lifelong friends await.

So put on this Sorting Hat

And let's determine your fate.

The Sorting Hat bent in half to accept the applause coming from the older students and prepared to do its job.

Filius cleared his throat. "Appleton, Helena." After a half minute under the hat, Helena became the first Hufflepuff to loud applause and cheers.

Minerva gave a smile of approval and clapped as each new student was sorted. She leaned forward in anticipation after "Sky, Giles" was sorted into Gryffindor.

"Snape, Stephen." Minerva knew she was not imagining that the murmur that buzzed around the Great Hall when the name was called was louder than it had been for previous students. Stephen, though, seemed not to notice as he walked quickly to the stool in front of the professors' dais. Only when he was almost at the stool did the Headmistress notice that he was biting his bottom lip so hard that a speck of blood had appeared. He gracefully sat down, and Filius put on the hat.

Once his eyes were covered by the hat, Stephen gratefully closed them and let out an imperceptible sigh. He jerked only slightly when he heard a voice. "Another Snape! It's been a long time. Not like some families who seem to send someone to the school every other year."

"You know my Da?"

The hat chuckled. "Do I know your father? I sat in his office every day for a year. It wasn't a good year for him – but that's for him to tell you. The question is, are you like him?"

"Everyone tells me I look just like him, and I'm good in potions, just like him."

The hat swerved slightly from side to side. "I don't mean your looks, lad, or your interests. Didn't you listen to my song? I'm hurt. I spent all year composing it."

"You said something like Gryffindors were brave but reckless, which is what my Da always says. You said Hufflepuffs were loyal but could be dunderheads."

The hat chuckled in his ear again. "You're your father's son all right."

"And, um, Ravenclaws were book smart but not street smart, and Slytherins were ambitious but could be ruthless."

"You listened well, lad, though maybe I can't take credit for your knowledge of the Houses. You are like your father in an essential way, not the superficial way you described yourself. You'd fit well in any of the Houses – you're smart enough for Ravenclaw, hardworking enough for Hufflepuff, ambitious enough for Slytherin, and brave enough for Gryffindor. Do you have any preference?"

"Slytherin, of course, like my Da."

"Are you sure? Sometimes it's best to differentiate yourself. I hope your father warned you that he was a controversial figure when he was here, and still is. You'll face people's preconceptions no matter which house you go into, but it will be worse in Slytherin because they come from families that were close to him. Some of your housemates there will view your father as a traitor, as someone who caused the death or imprisonment of their family members."

"My Da was a hero! He told me what he did, the good and the bad. I don't care that not everyone respects what he did. He warned me that would be the case. I'm proud of him."

The hat hummed. "Yes, definitely a strong sense of right and wrong. You'd do well in Gryffindor."

"No! You said I'm like my Da. I want to be in Slytherin, just like him."

The hat sighed. "In that case, better be …" and then aloud, "SLYTHERIN!"

As with the other sortings, when the hat announced its decision the faculty and students clapped, though by this time in the evening the cheering was reduced by its repetitiveness and older classmates were eager to get to the feast. Stephen made his way to the Slytherin table, exchanging smiles with the Headmistress on the way.

As "Yankton, Stanley" made his way to the Hufflepuff table, McGonagall stood up. "Welcome back, and welcome to our new students. I know it's been a long day for all of you, so I won't hold up the feast. Bon appetite!" With that, she tapped her wand on the table in front of her and a cornucopia of food appeared on all the tables.

As the Headmistress served herself some roast beef, Professor Felix Pucey leaned over. "Once again, it happened."

Minerva took some horseradish. "I noticed that too. But it was better than last year. Maybe we've turned a corner."

Felix shook his head as he poured himself some pumpkin juice. "Five new students in Slytherin rather than four is a statistical anomaly, especially when compared to the nine or ten students sorted in the other houses."

"I know Felix, but it's better than the paltry two or three new Slytherins we had per year immediately following the war. You know I can't influence the Hat."

Felix snorted. "Gryffindor's Hat. Have you ever talked to it about its own prejudices, especially when Slytherin's descendent set it afire?"

The Headmistress sighed. Her joy at the anticipation of the new year was now dimmed. Felix had a point. Moreover, with fewer students than the other houses, Slytherin had fewer people to form a decent Quidditch team and fewer chances to earn points, thus leading to a lesser chance for the Quidditch and house cups. Slytherin had won the former only three times in the last quarter century, and the latter only twice. Morale was low in the house, and it didn't look likely to improve for the foreseeable future – not unless the First Years had an extraordinary year. On top of that, the omens Padma saw were worrisome, even if she only admitted that to herself.

In resignation, Minerva turned to her dinner.

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_Please review. _


	3. The Year Begins

Chapter 3 – The Year Begins

By the time Stephen made it down to the Slytherin dormitory, he had already made friends with the two other First Year boys, Vikrum Banergee, a short but gangly black haired boy with dark eyes, and Titus Gosforth, a taller boy with flaxen hair and startling blue eyes. The three stood together in the Slytherin common room as their Head of House, Professor Felix Pucey, entered.

"Welcome, new Snakes, and welcome back, my returning Serpents!" he announced after the room had turned its attention to him. "You are now as one family. We have a history of amazing accomplishments…" he paused as he heard an older student snort. "Yes, amazing accomplishments. True, some of our graduates lost their way, but that also has happened in every other House, so don't let it discourage you. Instead, let it motivate you to excel and to continue to refurbish the reputation of Slytherin House to the point that those who are not sorted here gnash their teeth with disappointment!" He paused, trying to look at each student in the eye.

"Now, for those who don't know them, Slytherin prefects are Blythe Galling and Jaxon Hawking, Seventh Years," he motioned for them to stand up, "Yasmin Oakton and Lucas Farley, Sixth Years, and Zara Oldbridge and Enzo Spratt, Fifth Years. These are the people you will go to when you have questions, need information, or require help, either academically or for any other reason." The same student snorted. This time, Stephen saw it was a tall, thin boy who was apparently trying to grow a mustache. Pucey ignored him this time. "If the prefects can't help you, my door is always open. I look forward to getting to know you, my new Snakelets, and catching up with the rest you!" With that he left the room.

Farley went up to the boy who had interrupted Pucey's speech. "Lay off it already, Snyde! Let's welcome our mates before you start to cast a pall on everyone!"

"Me casting a pall? You really believe that drivel?" Snyde shot back. "You know as well as I do that we're the step-children of this school and always will be. I'd even say we're the red-headed stepchildren, but the red heads at the school seem to be the favored ones."

Oakton stepped up beside her fellow prefect. "Darius Snyde, if we have to tell you one more time to knock it off, I swear I'll take points. You refuse to see that it's your own attitude that gets you in trouble. Others of us like Hadley and me come from Death Eater families too, but we aren't constantly getting into fights or being put into detention. If you kept your mouth shut you'd find it easier to get along."

"Just because you are willing to roll over when your family is insulted doesn't mean that they like you – don't fool yourself. They just …"

At that point, Hawking grabbed Snyde by the collar and dragged him to a corridor leading off from the common room.

Stephen, his new friends and the two First Year girls watched this interaction with wide eyes. As Snyde disappeared from view, two older boys, one blond and one with black hair, came over to the small group. "Don't mind them," said the blond. "Snyde doesn't get along with anybody. I'm Scorpius Malfoy, and this is Albus Potter." He turned to Stephen. "Our dads know your dad and both asked us to keep an eye out for you no matter where you were sorted. It's funny, because they don't seem to get along with each other, but both asked us to do the same thing. "

Gosforth's eyes opened wide. "Albus Potter as in Harry Potter's son? Why aren't you a prefect?"

Albus and Scorpius looked at grimly each other. "We, uh, got into a spot of trouble a while back and any hope we ever had of become prefects disappeared."

Banergee took a deep breath. "No mistakes allowed, huh?"

Scorpius rubbed his nose. "Well, it was actually a big spot of trouble that could have resulted in some pretty bad consequences. Don't worry, we weren't treated unfairly. Normally if you make a mistake, you'll just end up writing lines or scrubbing bedpans or something. Just ask Hawking sometime how long it takes to clean the floor of the Owlery without magic."

"Though to be honest," Albus said, "we're such a small group that the odds are in your favor. I don't think Hawking would have been selected prefect if he were in any other House, but it's not like Professor Pucey has a lot of options. At least two of the five of you will be prefects. If Pucey changes prefects, which he's done in the past, maybe all of you will get a turn in the cauldron. Anyway, let me show you to your room. Your trunks are already there."

ABSABSABS

The first week passed in a blur to Stephen. His first class went well. He earned the Slytherin First Years their first points in Herbology by correctly identifying Dittany, something his father grew in the back yard.

Charms was more challenging. The teacher, Professor Flitwick, was so short he had to stand on his desk to demonstrate _Wingardium Leviosa_. "Make sure you are pronouncing the charm correctly, class," Flitwick explained. "Make the _gar_ nice and long as you say it. Say after me, now - _Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa." _When he was satisfied the class could pronounce it correctly, he demonstrated the wand movement slowly before having the class practice. "Very good, class! Now put the two together!"

Stephen was mortified when nothing happened, but looking around he saw that he was not the only one. Others, however, succeeded. He heard the diminutive professor offer praise. "Very good, Miss Garland! Nice work, Miss Pritchard!"

The voice came closer. "Mr. Challock, a bit more decisiveness in your final movement. Mr. Snape, say the charm like you mean it – don't hold back."

When Stephen practically shouted the charm, a stout Gryffindor snorted, then lifted his feather a meter above his desk without raising his voice above talking level. "Excellent, Mr. King!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. King sneered at Stephen, who felt his face burning. By the end of the class, his feather had rolled over and lifted slightly, but Stephen wondered if that was just from the air gusts blowing about the room.

Transfiguration was another challenging class. Professor Warmson was a tall, slender Hufflepuff with golden hair. After a long lecture, she had the class attempt to transfigure matchsticks into needles.

To Stephen's horror, his matchstick remained a matchstick. King snickered at him as his own matchstick at least turned silver in color. His soft laugher was joined by that of his classmate Giles Sky, a freckled boy with ash blond hair. "I thought you were a wizard," whispered King.

Warmson strode over the boys. "Any problem here, boys?"

"No, professor," answered King in an innocent tone. "We were just trying to help Snape. He seems to be having a problem."

"That doesn't portend anything, Mr. Snape," reassured the professor. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon." Stephen fervently hoped so.

Stephen almost fell asleep in both Astronomy and History of Magic, but for different reasons. Astronomy was taught at midnight on Wednesday after a long day of classes, and History of Magic was taught by a ghost who, Stephen became convinced, had bored himself to death.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, on the other hand, was taught by a tall man with scars across his cheek who wore his long red hair in a ponytail which let his fang earing dangle freely. In this class, Slytherin was paired with Ravenclaw.

After the general introductions, Professor Weasley began to walk around the room. "Now, I said that I'd introduce you to some creatures such as ghosts and vampires. Who can name another? Mr. Snape?"

"Hags," Stephen responded confidently. His father had sometimes mentioned them after his trips to Knockturn Alley.

"Very good. One point for Slytherin. Anyone else? Mr. Balendin?"

A vaguely familiar looking boy with auburn hair spoke up. "Are zombies real too?" he asked in a nervous voice.

A few students snickered but stopped quickly at a quailing look from the professor. "Yes, Mr. Balendin. You'll find many things that the muggles think of as being myths are based in fact. Let's look into their true characteristics."

As the First Years entered the common room that afternoon, Albus and Scorpius looked up from where they were studying in front of the blazing fireplace at the commotion. "Whoa, that was a wicked class," Titus exclaimed as he put down his bag. "Where do you think he got that scar?"

"A werewolf mauled him during the First Battle of Hogwarts," Scorpius said matter-of-factly.

"We have a werewolf teaching us?" Vikrum stuttered in horror.

"Nah. It wasn't the full moon. Uncle Bill just likes his steaks on the rare side," Albus reassured the First Years with a laugh. Vikrum sighed in relief.

Ursula Bletchley, one of the two First Year girls, had been quiet up until now. She cocked her head. "Wait a minute – Professor Weasley is your uncle? Isn't it odd to have your uncle as a professor?"

Albus snorted. "Any red headed Gryffindor is related to him, and most red heads in other Houses. I'm the black sheep of the family, in more ways than one," he said running his hand through his very dark hair.

The classes that Stephen most looked forward to were Potions and Flying. Potions came first. The First Year Slytherins and Gryffindors quieted as soon as Professor Pucey stood up, waiting to see what sort of Professor he was.

"Welcome, students, to your first class in the fine art of Potions," the teacher began. "You will find that Potions is an art, and as such you will not be able to simply wave your wand to get the result that you want. Indeed, unless you learn to read the signs your potion gives you, you may find that you have created useless sludge instead of a much needed restorative. You must pay attention and be precise. Fooling around in this class will not be tolerated – it can lead to injuries even magic cannot cure, or even death. I will expel anyone I see not paying attention. Do you understand me?"

The class nodded soberly.

"Very well. Open your book to page 14. Today you will brew a cure for boils."

Stephen sighed. He had brewed the cure several years ago. As Professor Pucey taught the difference between dicing and mincing, Stephen began to wonder what would happen if he substituted hedgehog prickles for the porcupine quills. First he would have to determine if he would need more or less … by the time the professor determined the class was ready to begin brewing, Stephen's page with the directions for curing boils was covered with notes.

When Professor Pucey walked around to inspect the students' work, Stephen hastily shut his book so the teacher wouldn't see his scribbling. He held his breath as Pucey looked at his potion. Pucey stirred it gently, then poured some into a vial he Accio'd and held up to a light. It wasn't until he smiled that Stephen let out his breath.  
"Excellent, Mr. Snape! Best I've ever seen from a First Year! Five points to Slytherin!" Ignoring the glares of Gryffindors King and Sky, Stephan beamed. As he left the room, Vikrum and Titus pounded him on the back.

His euphoria lasted into the weekend and gave him the motivation he needed to attempt his Charms and Transfiguration practical homework. After an hour, though, he was ready to throw his wand into the fire. Vikrum and Titus, coming up from their room, sat on either side of him.

"I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong!" Stephan moaned in frustration. "I know the incantation, and I know the wand movements. It's gotta be a problem with my wand."

Unfortunately, Ursula was just entering the Common Room and heard him. "Or it could be you're a squib," she said cattily.

Vikrum started to stand up but Stephen pulled him down. "It's not worth it, mate."

"Nope," replied Ursula, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. "There's no reason to get violent just because someone tells you the truth."

Titus stared at her. "Yeah, truth like you come from a family of Death Eaters!"

Ursula lifted her chin. "At least MY family stayed loyal to the side they chose, unlike the fathers of certain people in the room."

Hearing the raised voices, Blythe came over. "Problems, Firsties?"

The four looked at him. "None at all, Prefect Galling," replied Ursula. "I was just going up to my room."

Blythe watched her walk away. "I heard what she said. You've been having problems getting adjusted to your wand?"

Stephen sighed and leaned back. "I just don't get it."

Blythe conjured a feather and put it on the table in front of Stephen. "Let me see you try a _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Stephen carefully gave the incantation while moving his wand. The feather rose up a bit, only to fall back down.

"Hmm, you seem to be doing everything right. Hey, Potter!"

Both Albus and Scorpius wandered over. "What do you need, Blythe?"

"You had troubles with Charms as a Firstie, didn't you?" Albus nodded. "Watch Snape here and see if you can help him."

Stephen, turning red at the thought of everyone now knowing how hopeless he was, tried again with the same pitiful result.

Albus shrugged. "You're getting it to levitate, so you've got the ability. Just keep practicing." With that, the older Slytherins walked away.

Despite his friends' reassurances, by Sunday evening Stephan was able to raise his feather only a bit more, and his matchstick, though now gray in color, bent if he tried to poke it through a piece of cloth. Only one thing made him excited about another week of classes: the first flying lesson.

Whether Slytherin or Gryffindor, the entire class was in awe of Professor Fleet, a short, stocky man with hawk-like eyes and massive arm muscles that had enabled him to throw the quaffle almost half the length of a professional Quidditch pitch. Even the muggleborns, having been told of Fleet's background, were eager to see what was in store for them.

The instructor had the Slytherins and Gryffindors line up in two rows next to brooms that were lying on the ground. "All right now," said Fleet in a gruff voice, "Let's see who of you have some experience that I need to train out of you. Say 'up' to your broom like you mean it."

Stephen's broom smacked into his waiting palm. He looked up and saw that the skinny Gryffindor opposite him was having trouble getting her broom to get more than an inch off the ground. He watched her for a moment and then looked around. Fleet was at the other end of the rows.

"Psst. Hold your palm downward, not like a stop sign," he said in a low voice. The girl looked up, and then without saying anything twisted her wrist downward. "Up!" she repeated in a strong voice. Her eyes opened widely. "Wow!"

King, the boy who had laughed at him in Charms and Transfiguration, nudged her. "Gaila, remember what we've said about Slytherins. Don't listen to them."

"You be quiet, Leo! He helped me out."

Any response Leo was planning to make was stopped by the return of Fleet. "Good, very good. Everyone, now grasp your broom with your right hand about half a meter from the front of the broom. Your other right hand, Garland." The skinny girl's face turned red as she switched hands. Fleet took out his wand. "Now, kick the ground GENTLY with just the balls of your feet."

The students found themselves hovering about the ground at different heights. Some had barely risen; others found themselves several meters above the ground. Fleet used his wand to pull down two students who were still ascending. "Now, lean back." The students descended, some landing on the ground with a thunk while others set down more gracefully. For the rest of the hour, the students practiced calling their brooms, ascending and descending. Fleet strode among the students, correcting their grips and making sure that the students knew how to control altitude. By the end of the class, about half the students were able to hover at treetop height.

As they were returning the brooms to the shed, the skinny girl walked alongside Stephen. "Thanks again. I'm sorry my friend was so rude. I'm Gaila Garland."

"You're welcome. It was an easy mistake to make. I'm Stephen Snape."

King shoved Gaila as he walked past her, but she just shrugged. "Leo's been a bit of a snob. Just because I don't know anything about magic he thinks he's the only one who should give me advice."

"Well, I'll be happy to help you anytime, at least where I can. I'm great in Potions and good in Herbology, but not so great in Charms and Transfiguration."

"I was able to turn a matchstick into a needle my first class! Well, almost anyway. It didn't have a hole, but it was wider at one end."

Stephen scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I finally got mine to turn color, but more into gray than silver."

Gaila smiled. "We can help each other then! What are you doing after dinner?" They made plans to stay in the Great Hall after the meal that night before they lined up their brooms, and headed back to the castle.

Stephen was quiet on the way down to the dungeons. When he saw Albus and Scorpius playing Wizard's Chess watched by an amused looking merman through the thick glass, he approached them. Standing behind Scorpius was a stocky red-headed Seventh Year studying the board who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Stephen searched his memory and finally remembered his name was Hadley Overcliff.

"Queen's Knight to King 4 … Got ya!" cried Albus triumphantly.

Scorpius looked at the board in disgust. He would have to surrender either a bishop or a knight. As he thought about his option, he saw Stephen. "I don't suppose you know how to play chess. Overcliff's not helping at all."

"I'll tell you where you went wrong after the game," Overcliff said placidly.

"Like that will help," complained Scorpius. "So, Stephen, do you?"

"Not very well. Can I ask you a quick question?"

"You don't want to ask one of the prefects?"

"Nah, it's not that type of question. It's just … Do either of you know someplace where we can talk with someone from a different House other than the Great Hall?"

Albus and Scorpius glanced at each other. "There's an unused classroom on the second floor that a lot of couples use. It's opposite a painting of a witch holding a bowtruckle."

Stephen turned red. "No! It's nothing like that! We just want to study together."

"Oh – that's easy then. The library's out – Alkatab is a stickler for quiet. Most study groups use one of the rooms on the third floor opposite the tapestry of the Third – or maybe it's the Fourth – Goblin uprising. There's almost always one available as most study groups are in House and usually just stay in their Common Room. However, there's almost always some siblings put in different Houses that want to meet up."

The merman tapped from his side of the window, getting impatient. "Sorry, Your Excellency," said Scorpius with a glance at the window, and he turned back to the board. He sighed. "Sorry, Sir John. King's Bishop to King's Bishop 6."

Albus didn't hesitate, having made his plan in advance. "Queen's Knight to King's Knight 3." As Albus' Knight attacked Scorpius' Knight the merman gave an unsettling smile. It was echoed by Overcliff.

Back in their room, Vikrum and Titus looked suspiciously as Stephen grabbed his backpack when it was time to head down to dinner. "You're not going to study at dinner, are you?"

"Nah, I'm going to meet with Gaila after dinner and don't want to have to come back here," replied Stephen as they entered the Common Room.

"The skinny girl with the light brown hair and big ears that you talked with after flying lessons? You've got a girlfriend already? You have to be careful – she's a Gryffindor."

"Stop it! We're just friends. But I don't want to fall behind after only two weeks and she's going to help me in Transfiguration. I'll partner with her in Potions on Friday."

Several other students had joined them. "Snape, haven't you realized yet that Slytherins stick with Slytherins?" Overcliff asked.

Stephen started to shrug, but stopped when he imagined his father seeing the motion. "If it causes too much trouble we'll stop, but for now I want to make sure I pass. I'm the only one in the class who hasn't been able to at least make a matchstick turn silver and no one here has been able to help me."

"Maybe it's you," Ursula sniggered as she pushed past them.

Stephen caught up with Gaila before entering the Great Hall. When he mentioned the rooms opposite the tapestry to her, she gave a small sigh of relief. "I really didn't want to stay at the dinner table. It just seems too public, you know?"

"Yeah, we're not doing anything wrong, but I've gotten enough guff."

"Me, too. I just want to do well in class."

"Yeah. See you right after dinner!"

By asking one of the portraits, Stephen found the room. Gaila was already there, reading her potions book. When the door opened, she put down the book with a smile. "Ready to go?" When Stephen nodded, she added, "You first! Try the levitation charm." She put a feather on the aged oak table pushed off to the side.

Stephen put down his backpack and took a deep breath. Carefully, he cast the spell. The feather rose barely a hand's height before dropping.

Gaila watched carefully. "Now do it more quickly."

Nothing happened.

Gaila cocked her head. "Do you realize that when you say it faster that your incantation no longer matches your wand movement?"

Stephen just stared at her. "What do you mean? I do it the same."

"No you don't. When you say it slowly you do the down stroke at the '_dium._' At that point, you should still be on the '_gar_,' which may be the reason why you're getting some movement. When you do it quickly, you're already past that point – I'd have to watch you again, but it looked like you were already on the "_levi_.' Watch me carefully and then try it again."

To Stephen's amazement, the next time he tried it the feather floated up chest high. Exhilarated with his success, he beamed in joy. By the end of the informal study session, Stephen had not only been able to make his feather float above his head but had also produced a needle, albeit one with a hook at the end rather than a closed eye. "Thanks, Gaila! I didn't realize you had to match the incantation to the wand movement so precisely. You're a good teacher."

"You will still partner with me in Potions next week, right?" Gaila asked anxiously.

"Of course!" At Stephen's response, Gaila beamed.

While Stephen always looked forward to Potions, if only to have a chance to think about how he would modify the directions, he was so eager for Friday's lesson that he arrived twenty minutes early. He staked out a table in the back row. He got out his cauldron and waited impatiently for Gaila to show up. He barely noticed Vikrum and Titus arriving until they started to sit next to him.

"Not today!" he hissed at them, trying to see around them to make sure he didn't miss Gaila.

Titus thrust out his chin. "We're not good enough for you now?"

"What? No, it's not like that! But I was always taught I had to pay off my debts as soon as possible. Gaila helped me in Transfiguration and Charms, and in exchange I told her I'd help her in Potions and Herbology. It's not like I really like her or anything." As Stephen said this, he felt a twinge. He had enjoyed learning from Gaila.

Titus looked doubtful but at least willing to consider Stephen's words. Vikrum nudged him. "We understand paying off debts." They moved to the table in front of Stephen.

Gaila slid onto the bench next to Stephen a moment later. She gave him a shy smile and then turned to the front of the room where Professor Pucey had just stood up.

Stephen watched Gaila as the professor began the lecture. She followed along in her Potions book, making notes now and then. When they were told to get the necessary ingredients, he followed her to the storeroom. The containers with the ingredients they needed were on the table with the rest of the storeroom warded.

"I see one mistake already. You're just grabbing the top beetle carapaces. Those are generally the worst ones – they're ones other students picked up and then put back because of flaws. Dig deeper."

"Oh! I bet that's true when I get my primrose roots too! I just grab the top ones."

"Yeah – not only are they the rejects but they will also be even more dried out because they're exposed to the air. Now let's see what you can do with the proper ingredients. Stephen hurriedly grabbed what he needed for the Forgetfulness Potion.

As they left the classroom, Stephen spoke quietly. "That was definitely an acceptable potion. Next time, though, when you're stirring, make sure you do it in a smooth action. Don't pause between stirs. Keep going at a steady pace for the full count."

Gaila solemnly nodded. "Thanks! Say, I have a friend who needs some help. Would it be OK if she came to our next study session?"

Stephen was slightly startled. He thought they were now even. Then he thought about the readings for the next Transfiguration class. He was uncertain what two sections meant and embarrassed to ask an older student. "Tuesday night, right after dinner? "

Gaila smiled. "Works for me!"

Flitwick began the next Charms class with a review. "Let's make sure you all remember how to make those feathers float!" he announced cheerfully, but Stephen thought he looked worriedly at him. "_Wingardium leviosa!" _Flitwick watched with glee as Stephen's feather floated above his desk.

"Wonderful! Five points to Slytherin for the most improved charm! Now today we will learn how to direct the object…" Stephen ignored King's glare.

After the class ended, Titus and Vikrum turned to Stephen. "That was great! Did Garland teach you her trick?"

"Yeah, and wait until you see me in Transfiguration."

Transfiguration went just as well. Though he didn't get any points, he did get an approving nod from Warmson for his needle even without a closed eye. As soon as the professor turned back to the front of the classroom to begin a lecture on how to shape the eye of the needle, he turned around and smiled at Gaila who smiled back before focusing once again on the professor. By the end of class, he was able to produce a needle with eye. Even though it was lopsided, he was nonetheless elated.

Titus and Vikrum playfully punched Stephen on the arm as they walked out of the class. "You've been holding out on us, mate! Will you help us make the eye oval? Mine was more squarish."

"Sure! But it would be easier if you just come with me next time I meet up with Gaila. She seems to have a knack for seeing what's wrong – at least in regards to wand work."

Vikrum looked uncertain. "Do you think it would be OK?"

"Of course! She mentioned she'd like to bring a friend. I can bring some too."

As Stephen entered the room he already thought of as their study chamber on Tuesday night, he was a bit worried since he hadn't had a chance to tell Gaila that he was bringing some friends. Gaila's smile reassured him. "This is my friend, Regina Balendin." Stephen remembered seeing the auburn haired girl in the classes they shared with Gryffindor.

"These are my friends, Vikrum Banergee and Titus Gosforth," Stephen replied. Both Gryffindor girls giggled as Vikrum made an elaborate bow. The five decided to review their Charms homework first.

All went well until Titus began to get bored and he began to tell jokes. Stephen saw Gaila and her friend look at each other. The next time he told a joke, Stephen smiled. "That was a good one, mate. Can you save some until we finish studying? Do you think you can find us something to eat when we're done for the night? I'm sure we'll be done reviewing Charms by the time you get back and then we can focus on Transfiguration – I know that's what you said you wanted help in."

As the five were enjoying the Candy in a Can that Titus had brought back from his dormitory, Regina spoke up. "My twin brother in Hufflepuff, Ryan, is having problems in Potions. Do you think he can join us next week? Gaila told me how you helped her. Maybe you could set up a lab and show us?" she asked as she absentmindedly pushed some pieces of licorice snaps away from her with her quill, sighing when the snaps bit into it.

Stephen choked on a fizzy wizzy. "I can't set up an unsupervised lab! My Da would kill me!"

Gaila and Regina shared a glance. "Not a real lab," said Regina. "Just some harmless plants and water and such."

"Just to show them what you showed me," agreed Gaila. "How to set up a desk and cut up the ingredients properly. You know, your secret techniques."

When Stephen laughed, he spit out the fizzy wizzy that had been choking him. He turned red and grabbed the wet ball with his hand and stuffed it into his pocket where it continued to emit a hissing sound. Wiping his hand on his robe, he caught his breath. "They're not secret! They're just things you do if you want to get the potion right."

"Can you show us next week?" Regina repeated.

Stephen thought a moment. They had helped him with Charms and Transfiguration, so he did owe them some help. "Why not? But we're not going to really brew anything."

The year, Stephen reflected, was shaping up to be as good as he'd expected.

* * *

_An extra long chapter for you to review!_


	4. Dark Omens

Chapter 4 - Dark Omens

The day before Halloween, Professor Pucey asked the Headmistress at lunchtime if she had time that afternoon to talk about one of his students. McGonagall raised an eyebrow and told him to stop by after his last class of the day.

"Is something wrong, Felix?" the Headmistress asked as he stepped into her office.

"No, not wrong. Maybe intriguing is a better word."

McGonagall motioned him to the chairs in front of the fireplace. "This sounds interesting. Tea?"

After the two had settled down with some elderberry tea, Pucey leaned forward. "I've a student in one of my classes far advanced of his peers. I'd like permission to take him out of the class and give him private tutoring. He's being held back and I can see his boredom. Boredom in potions is not good – it leads to inattention which in turn results in explosions and accidental poisonings."

The Headmistress blew on her tea. "Let me guess. You're talking about Stephen Snape."

"Precisely. Headmistress, last Friday I asked him to stay behind. I told him that I'd noticed his advanced skills and I was behind in preparing Wiggenweld Potion for the hospital wing. I asked him if he thought he could brew it. When he said he'd have to look at the directions but that he thought he could, I asked him to come by Sunday to brew it. It was perfect! I gave it to Reseda this morning to use in the infirmary. Headmistress, that's a Fifth Year potion!"

McGonagall sat back. "I'm not surprised. He's been helping his father since he was a boy. While I don't see anything wrong with additional lessons, I don't like the idea of taking him out of the class. Can you make a deal with him of some sort, perhaps offering private lessons in exchange for him helping out other students as needed?"

Pucey nodded. "He already tutors other Slytherins and a couple of Gryffindors. I think I even saw his head bent over with a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw or two that I know of. I can just make formal what he's been doing informally. His talent in Potions is well known. No one will be surprised."

The Headmistress smiled. "Let's see how that works out."

ABSABSABS

When Severus Snape made his next delivery to Hogwarts, he was pleased to see his son carefully levitating a tray of potions into the hospital wing. "Da!" Stephen exclaimed after he'd set down the potions. "Guess what? I'm brewing for the medical wing now!"

"So I've heard, Stephen. I've heard you're helping Professor Pucey keep some of the First Year dunderheads in line."

Stephen snorted. "No, sir. But I am helping them on some of the basics. Did you know that some of them don't realize why sometimes you stir clockwise and other times you stir widdershins? They think it doesn't matter! And when the directions say to wait for a count of ten to add an ingredient, they count like it's a race, or like they've just woken up so the brew turns into slop. You don't know how hard it is to teach them!"

Reseda Burton heard the final comment as she walked in. She smiled at Stephen. "I think your father might have some idea, lad."

"Just remember, Stephen, mind Professor Pucey. He's doing you a great favor. Don't abuse his trust."

ABSABSABS

Though Stephan wasn't boasting about his private lessons, he didn't make an attempt to keep them secret either. Word filtered up to the upper classmen, and one day to his surprise he was approached by two Seventh Years, a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, while he was studying in the library at the table informally deemed the Slytherin one. The Ravenclaw sat down on one side of him and the Gryffindor pulled a chair over.

"Hey, Snape! Do you have a minute? We'd like to talk with you privately."

"Uh, sure! Watch my stuff guys?" he asked of the other Slytherins. The three walked over to a window nook where the Gryffindor jumped up to sit on the sill. "I'm Triton Turpin and this is Ophelia Huntress," he said. "We hear you have access to a fully equipped private lab."

Stephen had to stop a chuckle. "Nothing as fancy as that. Professor Pucey lets me fool around now and then in an old student lab."

Triton and Ophelia glanced at each other before turning back to Stephen. "We're looking for a place to practice for our NEWTs. We'd like to join you."

"Sure! I'll ask Professor Pucey and …"

Stephen stopped when Turpin's vigorous shook his head. "No need for that. See, we want to practice in secret to make it a surprise when we score so high on the test."

Stephen was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "I promised Professor Pucey that I'd never let anyone else into the lab. He has some dangerous ingredients in there."

"Surely nothing that's dangerous at our level? We're not Firsties. We …"

Behind Ophelia, Albus Potter suddenly spoke up. "Hey, Stephen, you're holding up the group. Will you be done soon?"

"Sorry, guys." Stephen pushed his way past the tall student. "Thanks," he breathed out quietly.

"What was that about?" Albus asked just as quietly. "You looked like you needed rescuing."

"They wanted me to give them access to the lab I use in my Potions lessons. But I gave my word to Professor Pucey, and my Da would skin me alive if I betrayed a Professor's trust like that."

Albus clapped him on the shoulder. "I imagine letting some older years into a private lab would be a bit of a betrayal of trust. You did the right thing. Don't let them bully you into changing your mind."

ABSABSABS

As the days got shorter the weather seemed to be constantly gloomy. By late November, the ground was covered with a coating of ice and snow. With the students spending more time inside the number of pranks increased, resulting in Professor Pucey asking Stephen to brew massive amounts of headache-relief potions to ease headaches for the professors.

As the weekly staff meeting came to an end, Padma asked the Headmistress if she could have a short word with her. McGonagall nodded briskly. "Now's a good time. Follow me to my office."

The Headmistress waited until the Divinations professor had made herself comfortable. "I can tell you don't have good news. Out with it."

Padma took a deep breath. "The signs of an upcoming tragedy are still there, and getting stronger. This morning I used ovomancy. The future looked so dark I didn't want to eat breakfast afterwards. Is there any way the next Hogsmeade weekend can be postponed?"

Minerva drummed her fingers. "Do you have any idea where this tragedy will take place?"

Padma shook her head. "I've tried to divine a location, but I can't read a definite place."

"Then I don't want to cancel the weekend. This is the last opportunity before the Yule break. Without something more definitive, postponing the weekend may only delay what will happen and at worst may cause the … incident to happen as we have four years of students who had planned to be out cooped up in the castle. What I will do is double the number of chaperones in the village and remind the students to watch out for each other."

"I thought that might be the case," said Padma resignedly. "I'll keep trying to narrow the event timeline and determine the place."

After she left, Albus Dumbledore spoke up from his painting. "Divination was never your favorite subject, Minerva."

"And you see why, Albus! Vague warnings, never enough details to take action, always the worry that trying to prevent an event will in fact just cause it to occur – worthless!"

"Now, my dear, you never know what actions will result in something not occurring. When all the children come home safe and sound on Sunday, you'll know it was because you listened to Miss Patil and did what you could."

ABSABSABS

By Sunday evening, most of the students had already returned to the castle and it was quiet in the Three Broomsticks. On one corner table, three lingering Ravenclaws sat at a table strewn with a dozen glasses and a variety of dishes. "I tell you, Ned, you can't conflate Rumi's search into the indivisible component of magic with Blavatsky's search for magic's source. Doing so is like mixing up gnomes and pixies."

Ned leaned back, finishing off his butterbeer. "No, Foster, but there's a difference between trying to integrate the theories together and merely seeing how one influences the other. Gurdjieff clearly says …"

The third Ravenclaw threw his napkin on the table where it vanished along with the glasses and dishes. "We won't solve this mystery tonight. Come on, it's time to head back to the castle."

As the three bundled up forms left the village, snow began to drift down. Suddenly Ned stopped. "Bloody Hades! I forgot my scarf back at the pub. You guys go ahead without me. I'll just Apparate back to the gates from there."

His skinny companion scoffed. "Since when do you know how to Apparate?"

Ned rubbed his red nose. "My mother had me take lessons last summer. I know what I'm doing."

"Wow! Why didn't you tell us earlier?" asked Foster as he drew his cape in tighter.

"Well, you know with my parent's background, they try to remain inconspicuous. Technically, I was still too young to learn, but only by a couple of months. But now that I'm of legal age to Apparate I don't have to keep it a secret anymore," explained Ned airily.

"Well, in any case, you don't have a license yet!" Foster argued. "Hadwin, back me up here."

"Foster's right, mate," Hadwin agreed. "We're cold too, but you could get into deep trouble if you get caught."

"You too are just too cautious." Ned turned back to the pub.

"You're as crazy as a niffler!" yelled Hadwin to Ned's back. He turned to his friend. "Come on, Foster." The two bent into the wind once again.

"I sure hope he comes to his senses. If he gets caught Apparating without a license he's going to get so many detentions we won't see him in the common room until spring," moaned Foster, trudging up the path trying to avoid the roots that seemed like they wanted to trip him up in the dark.

"Not to mention the lost points. We actually have a chance this year to get the cup. If Ned loses it for us, I'll kill him." The two plodded up the path. As they approached the gate, they heard the screams.

ABSABSABS

McGonagall poured a round of Blishen's Firewhisky. Only her iron determination kept her hands from shaking. She had called an emergency meeting of the House Heads. Flitwick was barely holding himself together. "Such a bright student. Well liked, too. How could he have made such a stupid mistake?"

Sinistra gulped her drink down. After choking for nearly a minute with Bill Weasley pounding her on the back, she carefully put her glass on the table. "He had no chance. To leave both legs behind … perhaps if he'd been right at the school, but by the time anyone found him …"

Warmson ignored everyone else in the room. "We tell them and we explain to them and we teach them and they still ignore every rule in the book, thinking magic can cure all."

Weasley finished his own drink. "I assume there will be an investigation?"

Nodding, McGonagall held out the bottle for anyone who wanted more. "Magical Law Enforcement will send over an auror in the morning. He or she will want to talk to everyone who had contact with Mr. Ancrum for at least the previous twenty-four hours, and maybe more. She turned to Flitwick. "Filius, thank you for informing the family. Please put up wards around his things until they've been inspected by the aurors. After they're done, everything can be shipped to his parents."

"Of course, Headmistress," squeaked the Ravenclaw, wiping his eyes. "I'll start developing a timeline of Mr. Ancrum's last," his voice hitched, "day."

ABSABSABS

Word of the death spread quickly. The Sixth Years were somber. All were acquainted with Ned from at least one of their classes. Even some of the non-Ravenclaws knew him well from shared classes that were common at the NEWT level as well as school clubs. When the Headmistress stood up at breakfast and asked for a moment of silence in Mr. Ancrum's memory, sniffs could be heard from throughout the room. She announced a memorial service for that afternoon.

The younger students were affected by how their older classmates acted but most didn't know Ned personally, especially non-Ravenclaws. They soon returned to their own worries such as homework and who was eating the biggest bowl of Pixie Puffs, but they quickly stifled their small talk when stared at by the upper years.

ABSABSABS

Later that morning, Harry Potter Floo'd into the Headmistress' office. "Harry!" she exclaimed in delight. "I didn't realize they'd send you!"

"Thank you, Profess … I mean Headmistress," said Harry with a small smile.

"For Merlin's sake, call me Minerva, Harry. Tell me, how is James doing? It's been quieter around here without him. McGonagall motioned him to sit down. Tea?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, please. He's generally doing well in Auror training, though is struggling in trailing – he doesn't seem to have the knack of being inconspicuous. How is Albus doing?

"Quite well. He seems to have taken young Snape under his wing."

"Good – I asked him to. I figured Stephen would be a Slytherin. I remember coming to Hogwarts after being raised in the muggle world and I imagine going into Slytherin would make that even worse."

McGonagall frowned. "Slytherins have always welcomed half-bloods as you should well know, and even talented muggleborns have a place there. After all, it was well known Severus was a half-blood, but even the staunchest of purebloods supported him as Head of House, a position that gave him a lot of influence over their children."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I thought that was because Tom backed him."

"True, but even between the Death Eater Wars, when no one but Albus thought Tom would return, the parents gave him their full support. I have to admit I was occasionally envious, as Gryffindor parents were more inclined to argue that their sprogs were perfect."

Dumbledore's painting spoke up. "With all due modesty, if the Slytherin parents didn't trust Severus because of Tom, they trusted him because of me. Whereas you and the other Heads, Minerva, were less trusted by parents who didn't trust me but only Tom."

"It was more than that, Albus! As you recall – but this is getting off the subject. I wish this was purely a social call but I know you have work to do. I have everything we've collected so far – lists of where Mr. Ancrum went yesterday, of his friends, information from the medical report, his school records … just let me know what more you need. I've set aside the small room next to the staff lounge for your express use. You can do your interviews there."

"Thank you, Headmistress,"

ABSABSABS

Harry began by interviewing Filius as Ancrum's Head of House.

"I don't know what to tell you, Harry," he said as he dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. "Mr. Ancrum was a fine student. He earned seven OWLs and continued on in five subjects: Arithmancy, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Potions."

"What classes did he drop?" Harry interrupted.

"Ancient Runes and Astronomy."

Harry checked his notes. "Is that pretty typical for Ravenclaws?"

Filius wrung the handkerchief. "Yes. He also was involved with the Magical Theory club as an extracurricular activity."

"Was he feuding with anyone?"

Filius sat up straight. "Surely you don't think this tragic accident was murder?"

Harry tapped his quill. "There's a possibility he was Imperius'd. I'll be talking with the people who saw him last to see if there were any signs of it. If not, he more than likely was just overconfident in his ability to Apparate."

"He didn't have any enemies that I know of," Filius avowed. "Never got any detentions for fighting and the only times I was sent reports from Reseda that he'd been treated in the Hospital Wing was for the odd Flying or Potions accident."

"But he did get detentions?"

"Several for being in the restricted section of the library without permission or after hours - a common reason for detentions among those in my House," Filius explained with more pride than embarrassment. "Once for setting up an illicit potions lab – he insisted he just wanted to do extra practice for his OWL but you know how dangerous potions can be without supervision. And once for knocking Alkatab into the wall while running in the hall. He'd been delayed in Herbology by some uncooperative mandrakes and was late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry's next interview was with Hadwin Corbeau. "I understand that you were one of the last two people to see Mr. Ancrum."

Hadwin's hands shook slightly. "He was one of my best mates. We've known – we knew each other for five and a half years. He was smart and wicked funny."

"Can you tell me what you did yesterday?"

"Ned, Foster, and I left for Hogsmeade right after breakfast. We spent the whole day just wandering about the village – hours at the bookstore, lunch at the Three Broomsticks, the afternoon at the local branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before getting some stuff for school and back to the Three Broomsticks for dinner with the rest of the crew."

"What did you consume for dinner?"

Hadwin blinked. "I had Shepherd's Pie. I think Foster had fried fish and Ned had some disgusting haggis – we teased him about it. To think that some of the last words we spoke to him disparaged his taste …" He crumpled the robe over his legs.

Harry refilled his quill. "Did you have anything to drink?"

"A few butterbeers apiece, but we weren't drunk, if that's what you're asking."

Harry made a note to ask Nicolo, the current proprietor of the Three Broomsticks, if he'd noticed anything strange about the plates or bottles that evening.

Hadwin continued. "It had snowed off and on and we weren't in a hurry to get back so we were the last group to leave the pub. Ned had forgotten his scarf and went back to get it. He'd said he was going to Apparate back, but we thought he was joking. Then we heard screaming as we approached the gate and …" he trailed off.

Harry's next interview with Foster Pajaro confirmed Hadwin's account of the day before. Ned Ancrum, though consuming multiple butterbeers, did not have enough to get drunk. He had not gotten into any fights in town and didn't have any known enemies at Hogwarts.

After talking with several more Sixth Years as well as Nicolo at the Three Broomsticks, Harry headed wearily into the Headmistress' office. She welcomed him with a new pot of tea.

"Did you find anything significant, Harry?" McGonagall asked after both had been served.

Harry breathed in the aroma of the tea. "As far as I can see, it was a terrible example of overconfidence. He'd experienced some minor splinching in the past when he was first learning but seemed to have gotten the hang of it. However, he'd never tried to Apparate further than across a room. My best guess is that he started to Apparate and then realized how far he was going to have to go when he was deliberating on his destination. He probably tried to stop what he was doing but it was too late."

McGonagall gripped her napkin tightly. "I had a long talk with his parents this afternoon. They're heartbroken. They thought that by teaching him the basics last summer they'd be giving him an advantage. They never thought it would lead to his death."

A portrait of a stout man with a gray beard spoke up. "Pardon me, Headmistress, but if you wish to make it to dinner on time you need to leave now."

McGonagall nodded her thanks and pushed herself to her feet. "Would you like to join us, Harry? I can have the elves set another place at the head table for you and you can meet up with Albus and Lily afterwards."

Harry smiled for the first time in hours.

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	5. Chapter 5 - Quidditch

Chapter 5 – Quidditch

At the final feast before the Yule break, the Headmistress kept looking at the still empty spot at the Ravenclaw table though her attention would periodically be attracted by the occasional hijinx among the students, who seemed even more high spirited than was normal before a holiday. Neville knew who she was thinking of and caught her attention, trying to distract her. "I've arranged for the Gryffindors who are staying here for the break to participate in some informal Quidditch games."

Fleet nodded. "Only one person who is on a House team will be staying here over break. This will be a great opportunity for those who never play to get on the field. It will give them a better appreciation for the game."

Minerva shook herself out of her dark thoughts. "What will you do with Hufflepuff? They only have three people staying, isn't that what you said, Hecate?"

The witch swallowed before answering. "Yes, but one of them is Mr. Stump, the one Flinn mentioned."

Bill Weasley looked up sharply. "The Beater? He's good."

Fleet nodded. "In any case, I plan to mix up the teams. I don't see any reason to restrict teams by House – after all, they won't be earning points towards the Quidditch cup. I'll set up teams of four – no Keeper, no Seeker, only two Chasers and the two Beaters. The aim will be to score as many points as possible in thirty minutes."

Bill ran his hand across his chin. "When your plan gets out, don't be surprise if some students ask their parents to come back early."

Flinn gave a conspiratorial wink. "Next term I'd like to organize a Quidditch club for those who are not on their House team. I'd like to mix the students by ability, not House."

McGonagall was taken aback. "Next you'll be getting rid of House teams!"

Neville leaned back, refraining from displaying a victorious grin. The Headmistress had been diverted.

ABSABSABS

Bill Weasley was right. When owls went out to those who had gone home for the break with news of the informal Quidditch matches, more than one student begged his parents to let him return to Hogwarts early. Eight did so, resulting in Fleet adding a Seeker and a Keeper to each team. With the teams constantly changing members, rivalries had little chance to grow. Signs of cross-House friendships began to be noticed by the professors.

The new term began on a brisk, sunny day. Almost as soon as the returning students met up with those who had stayed over the holidays, they were regaled with tales of daily Quidditch games, inspiring a bit of jealously among those who were obsessed with the game but hadn't been able to return. Stephen was among them as he waited for more of the study group to arrive, though with it being early in the term he wasn't sure how many would show up.

"I asked my mum and my Da if I could return early," he told Vikrum and Titus glumly, "But they said no. I knew my mum wouldn't understand, but I'd hoped Da would."

"I know what you mean," commiserated Titus. "I think grown-ups forget what's important. Instead of brushing up on my skills and increasing my chances to get on the team next year, I had to sit at boring family dinners and listen to stories I've heard a hundred times already."

Vikrum threw his head back onto the chair. "Did you hear the worst part? Not only did Fleet give tips, but remember Hadia Durand? She played for the Holyhead Harpies back, oh, thirty years ago."

"She was on the Slytherin team before that, wasn't she?" asked Titus.

"Yeah. Anyway, she has a niece in Hufflepuff. Nova Champlain, a Second Year. Anyway, Champlain is a friend of Fleet's, and she came for a couple of days to help coach."

"It's not fair," Titus grumbled.

Stephen looked around to make sure he wouldn't be overheard. "The only good news is that Fleet apparently convinced McGonagall to establish a school Quidditch club," he reported

"Where'd you hear that?" whispered Titus excitedly.

"The Headmistress came to our house one day to request some additional potions. She's an old friend of my Da's. They got to talking and I overheard them."

Their conversation was interrupted when four others of the study group arrived. Gaila plopped down on an overstuffed chair. "It's not fair! It's only the first week of term and I've already got three papers to write."

Ryan Balendin began to pull parchment and quills from his yellow and black backpack. "I'm just glad I finished all the homework that was due the first day back. Helena got two detentions!"

Regina stuck her tongue out at her brother. "So you admit you owe me big time for telling mom and dad you didn't have it done yet?"

Ryan turned red. "There was no reason to get me into trouble. I would have finished it in time anyway!"

Orla Timkun, a Ravenclaw who occasionally joined the group, had finished setting out her books on the table in front of her. "I hate to interrupt, but I have a gobstones game to get to in an hour. Can we get started?"

After reviewing the chapter on the Softening Charm, the group decided to practice casting it. They had fun testing the efficacy of their spells by bouncing on the now rubbery objects. Ryan pointed to a chair and incanted "Spongify." He then jumped on it, expecting to bounce. Instead, he knocked the still hard seat over and landed on the floor with a painful thud.

"Good, one, Ryan," sniggered Regina.

Ryan was still chaffing under Regina's earlier remark. "You think you know so much, but I remember when your Incendio caught your textbook on fire!"

Regina drew back, affronted. "And what about when you …"

Trying to defuse the tension between the siblings, Stephen interrupted. "Hey, Regina, I'm still confused about the difference between the Softening Charm and the Cushioning Charm. Can you help me?" The group settled back down and returned to their assignments.

ABSABSABS

At the same time, McGonagall's mood, which had lifted as always with the return of the students, changed once again upon the arrival of her Divinations professor.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress," Padma said, rubbing her hands together in agitation. "The signs have returned. I used xylomancy this morning and the twigs threw themselves into the pattern signifying death."

McGonagall frowned wearily. "I'd hoped that one death would be enough to satisfy any prophesy. Students have just recovered from poor Mr. Ancrum's death. The number of hijinks and pranks seem to be higher than ever."

Padma looked down in misery. "I'm sorry …" she repeated in a whisper. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

Albus looked down from his painting. "Excuse me, Miss Patel, and you can correct me if I'm wrong, but can't the sign for death be read in different ways? Perhaps it doesn't mean the death of a student, but the death of a familiar, or a centaur, or a mermaid. Perhaps it refers to the death of a relative of a student or staff member. Perhaps it's more symbolic, such as the death of a dream as a student fails a course needed for his chosen occupation. Perhaps it refers to something that will happen far in the future, long after any of us in the school here today are gone."

Minerva snorted and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you for trying, Albus. Considering how you organized your life and the lives of everyone around you for eighteen years based on a prophesy, you'll forgive me if I don't feel particularly reassured."

Albus looked abashed. "Right as always, Minerva."

Padma had studied the story of the prophesies that had changed the course of the wizarding world as part of her training in divination. "I'm sorry I can't be as clear as Professor Trelawney."

"Clear? Not at all," replied Minerva. "The second prophesy about Pettigrew's return to his master was clear, but her first prophesy regarding Harry was more ambiguous and didn't even seem to be true for a time – after all, even after," and here she took a breath even after so many years, "Voldemort's resurrection, both he and Harry lived for three years. Who's to say they couldn't have co-inhabited the Earth for far longer, even as long to the end of their natural life spans? No, my dear, you have no need to feel in any way inferior to Trelawney. Indeed, having closely observed both of you, I can say in all honesty that you are a far better prognosticator and teacher. After all, Sybill's correct auguries were few. Remember how she always foretold the death of a student?"

Padma shook her head. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, Headmistress. Professor Trelawney was a true prophesier. I am merely adept at reading omens – or thought I was. But what good is it if I can't read enough into the signs to be able to stop horrible things from happening?"

The Headmistress sighed to herself. She'd known when she'd hired Padma that the witch had a high regard for Trelawney, unlike Minerva herself. As far as she was concerned, Sybill was almost a fraud. True, she had made two prophesies that she knew of that had in fact come true, and perhaps she had been able to read omens when they jumped out at her, but overall her record was dismal. Padma had not made any prophesies yet and suffered from the inability to get precise readings, but she could be startling accurate at reading omens. "Padma, thank you for bringing your reading to my attention. Let's hope it portends the death of a relative from old age. However, I'll tell the staff to expect a brainstorming session at the next staff meeting to see what we can do to prevent the worst from happening."

The Ravenclaw looked unconvinced but nodded.

ABSABSABS

January passed, as did February, and no student or staff member was killed, or seriously injured. Padma said nothing more about omens and Minerva put them away in the back of her mind, convincing herself that they did indeed refer to the death of a student's dream when they failed a particular OWL or NEWT. She caught herself wondering once if hoping a student failed was uncharitable of her, and then wondered if failing a critical test could cause one to commit suicide. Each time a student received word that a grandparent or great-grandparent had died, as happened several times during the two months, she hoped that was the fulfillment of the omens.

At the same time, in addition to going to the group study sessions, Stephen continued to tutor his fellow students and to attend private Potions lessons on the side. Even some NEWT students occasionally asked him for clarification of a Potions problem, and when he did not know the answer he'd say so and volunteer to look into it. Since he had corrected his wandwork problem and with his study group helping him get through the readings he did not understand, he was doing well in most of his classes, though he decided History of Magic was not worth his time and decided to only put in enough work to just pass it.

Learning this during one of his resupply visits did not please his father. "Just because you think a subject is boring doesn't mean it's not important to learn!" admonished Severus during one of his visits to deliver potions to the infirmary when he met up with his son.

Stephen looked to the floor. "I know, Da. But there's only so many Goblin Rebellions I care to learn about."

The potion Severus was putting away for Reseda froze in mid-air. Severus muttered a curse under his breath and directed it to its proper place on the shelf before turning to face his son. "By any chance do you still have the syllabus for the class?"

"We never got one. Why?"

"Can you tell me what you've been learning?"

As Stephen concluded his recitation, Severus ran his hand over his face. "It sounds like the same course of study as when I was a student."

"Then you understand, Da!"

"What I understand is that I was to see the Headmistress."

Stephen rubbed his fingers together. "I don't think there's any reason to bother her, Da! I promise I'll do better."

Severus clapped his son on his shoulder. "You're not in trouble, boyo. I just want to talk to her about some changes."

A few minutes later, Severus walked into Minerva's office. "Severus! I'm always happy to see you. Thank you as always for the potions. How are Nuala and your other children?"

Severus took one of the proffered chairs in front of the fire, casually freezing the ever-blooming flowers without a thought as he had so many times before.

"They're good, thank you. I've come to ask you what the History of Magic course teaches."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "You should know very well, Severus. You didn't leave here that long ago. You should be able to tutor Stephen without any problem."

"That is my problem! Minerva, how can we as a society advance if we don't teach our students the past? I don't mean long-ago Giant Wars and Witch Hunts, but the recent and relevant fight against Grindelwald and the Death Eater Wars."

McGonagall leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I wish I could, Severus. I've tried to introduce modern history many times. No matter how I try to do it, though, I get pushback by the Board of Governors. It's too recent, and hurts the feelings of too many still in power. By the time I get an approved syllabus, it comes out as 'many in our society wanted to keep wizards safe but did so using questionable means.' Questionable! I'm afraid to open a discussion which would allow those who espouse wizarding supremacy a platform."

"So you'd rather have the students learn nothing except the distorted views that they hear at home and from other classmates?"

"I agree, Severus, but what specific course of action would you recommend?"

"At least force the students at each level to write a paper about it! Force them to think about the ramifications."  
"Even if some end up taking the view that Tom only wanted the best for our world?"

"A few may write that to please their parents, but by being forced to defend their position they will at least have to face the fact that his homicidal actions devastated wizarding society."

"Will they? Or will they be able to justify why their parents, aunts, and uncles fought for a genocidal psychopath?"

This time it was Severus' turn to sigh. "Surely you can at least teach about the horrors the Death Eaters brought about."

McGonagall looked upwards. "Well, it has been a couple of years now since my last try. I may be able to convince them to add in a week or two of modern history at each level; it won't be my problem if the Board thinks that modern history refers to the 1700s."

ABSABSABS

Meanwhile, the intramural Quidditch matches had become almost as popular as the House matches. Each team was required to have at least one person from each House, and the House players and Reserves were ineligible from participating. They did, however, offer coaching and played in pick-up matches to keep up their skills. Team Captains watched most practices and each game with an eye on students in their own House to see who they should draft for the following year.

The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff House match the first weekend in March resulted in a narrow victory by Gryffindor. The Hufflepuff defeat was later blamed for giving a Second Year Hufflepuff student, determined to make the team and avenge the loss, the motivation to practice on a rainy night. Sometime during her solo practice, she apparently slipped off her broom and died, alone on the field until the next morning when she was discovered by a group of students representing all four Houses who had been planning to practice for the school club teams.

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	6. The Second Investigation

The Second Investigation

The Gryffindor celebration was cut short the next morning as soon as the word of Nova Champlain's horrible death spread. With her discovery on the field by the early rising Quidditch players, the entire school knew by the time breakfast began that another death had occurred.

When the Headmistress looked out at the breakfast assembly, she saw tear-streaked faces on more than just Hufflepuff students. While older students simply looked stunned, her participation in the school Quidditch club meant that she was well known to students in each of the other houses. McGonagall stood up and the already somber room became silent.

"I'm sorry to formally confirm the news you've all heard about the terrible death of one of our fine Hufflepuff students, Second Year Nova Champlain. The investigation into her death has just begun. We will have a memorial service for her this afternoon here in the Great Hall. Your Heads of House will pass out the details as soon as they are finalized. In the meantime, classes are cancelled for today and all of the professors are standing by to talk with you about any questions or concerns you may have. The Quidditch pitch is, of course, off limits until further notice, and flying, even on your own brooms, is strictly prohibited until the investigation is over."

Voices broke out as soon as she sat down. She could hear some of the loudest comments without any sort of amplification spell. "… school brooms should have been replaced ages ago …" "… and then she helped me with my homework but …" "… such a sweet girl…" "… why didn't anyone notice she was missing…" "… then she said she was going to be just like her famous aunt …" "… should have known not to fly in the rain we had last night ..."

At the staff meeting the Headmistress called for immediately following breakfast, Padma sat in silence while Reseda tried to comfort her. "There, there, my dear, you did all you could. You warned us danger was in the air. We did what we could to prevent this."

Fleet was running his hand through his hair over and over. "I know I warned everyone not to fly alone. I know I locked the brooms up," he muttered repeatedly.

Warmson unconsciously picked at a faded yellow handkerchief, occasionally pressing it to her red eyes.

McGonagall cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. "I know this is hard on everyone. I just wanted to let you know I've already spoken to the Ministry and the Board of Governors. They'll be sending out an auror to investigate how this terrible accident happened and to offer suggestions to prevent similar incidents from occurring in the future."

"Has the Prophet been in touch with you yet?" asked Bill.

Professor Flitwick answered. "Not yet, but I'm sure they'll be on our steps soon. I noticed a great deal of owl traffic this morning."

"Keep them away from the students," Minerva directed. "Hopefully they will respect the family and not publish any details until the poor girl is buried and the investigation complete."

ABSABSABS

Stephen was more shaken than he let on. He hadn't known Nova well, but she'd played on his team a couple of times in club Quidditch games. She'd been bubbly and had a warm smile – Stephen had pegged her as a typical Hufflepuff. He hadn't known anyone who had died before; he'd never interacted with Ned Ancrum, who'd been so much older. He was glad his father was delivering potions to the infirmary that afternoon and decided to make it a point to be there. He told himself it was only because he knew his father would want to see him.

When Severus arrived at the castle, he had not yet heard the news, but sensed something was off. He attracted the attention of the Bloody Baron, who rattled his chains. "Ach, a terrible turn of events. A young lass died last night from a fall from a broom."

Severus made a detour to McGonagall's office. The gargoyle respectfully nodded to the previous Headmaster and let him in. "Thank you, George," he said to it as he passed the grotesque.

Minerva looked up from the paperwork on her desk.

"Severus! I would love to chat, but am busy right now."

"I heard the news and just wanted to offer my condolences. Losing a student is hard; losing two in one year even worse. Please let me know if I can do anything to help."

"I anticipate we'll need plenty of additional calming and sleeping droughts." The fireplace suddenly flared and Harry Potter stepped out. "Headmistress, Professor Snape."

"Headmaster Snape," growled Phineas from his portrait.

Minerva ignored the painting and got up to greet the auror. "Harry, I'd say it was a pleasure to see you, but not under these circumstances. I am glad you're the one who will be doing the investigation."

Severus nodded to both. "Headmistress, Potter, I'll be on my way. " He paused a moment. "I may draft my son to help with the potions as they are ones I know he can brew."

Harry rubbed his chin. "And I imagine you'll want to have your son with you. I know I want to spend some time with Albus and Lily while I'm here. Something like this makes a person realize how fragile life it. They'll be able to do no wrong today."

"Nonsense. I merely need some assistance." He thought a moment. "I assume I can take him home to work on the potions as long as I bring him back before curfew?"

Minerva and Harry shared a glance expressing their disbelief that Severus only wanted his son home for a few hours to assist him; both knew that he could brew enough of these common potions alone to give every student a dose without breaking into a sweat, but neither wanted to call his bluff. Minerva nodded in response to the Severus' question.

Severus met Stephen in the hospital wing. Stephen was pleased to learn he could go home for the day. The two Floo'd back to their house. Severus had sent a note through the floo so Nuala and Patrick were waiting to greet them with hugs. Fianna smiled at her father and looked curiously at the boy she hadn't seen for two months before giving him a toothy grin. After a soothing afternoon of brewing and being with his family, Stephen felt much better.

ABSABSABS

Harry walked around the Quidditch pitch. The ground was still moist but the storm had passed and the sun was trying to peek out. He could see the lines on the grass which marked the passing of the students going onto the field and the divots where they had mounted their brooms.

Harry would have had no trouble identifying where Nova had landed even if the area had not been marked by keep-away wards. It was close to the base of the left goalpost nearest the Forbidden Forest. Reseda had moved the body to the infirmary but had left a three dimensional image it its place. Harry walked around it carefully. Reseda had carefully Accio'd all the blood, but Harry imagined the grass underneath where it had been looked particularly sickly.

The girl's broom lay broken in two. The shiny shaft lay near the right goalpost; the head of the broom lay beyond it. The broom had been an older style Pegasus. Harry looked at the pieces thoughtfully and wondered whether it had snapped in the air or when it collided with the ground. Was it an accident or sabotage?

Harry sighed as he set up the room for his interviews. When Hecate Warmson arrived, her yellow handkerchief soaked with tears, he called for some tea. Neither said a word for several minutes.

"She was a sweet little girl, Mr. Potter," Hecate finally said, a catch in her voice. "I just don't know what to tell you."

She was so broken Harry hated to ask his first question. "Can you see her breaking probably a dozen school rules to go flying at night voluntarily and without telling anyone?"

Hecate squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know, I just don't know. Before this morning I would have said no, but then I remember that her Aunt Hadia was a professional player. Hadia Durand – her mother's sister – are you old enough to remember her from the Harpies? Nova would talk about her all the time. Perhaps she wanted to imitate her so much that she lost her common sense."

When Fleet came in, Harry asked the Flying Instructor how he thought Nova had obtained a broom.

"I lock up the school brooms after every lesson, every practice, and every game. I know I locked up the broom shed, Mr. Potter. Many of the students have their own brooms though. They're supposed to turn them in, but of course …" He trailed off.

"What type of brooms does the school use now?" Harry asked as he took out a new sheet of parchment.

Fleet scratched his chin. "I can get you an exact inventory in an hour, sir. For the most part they are Lightning Birds, but the school has a handful of Dragons and several Thunderbirds."

Harry wrote that down and re-inked his quill. "Do you have any Pegasuses?"

The Flying Instructor looked thoughtful. "I'll double check my records, but unless some are hiding in the loft of the shed, the answer in no. Was that the type of broom she was flying?"

"It was."

"Interesting." Fleet leaned forward. "I believe that was the type of broom the Harpies were using when Hadia, Nova's aunt, was playing for them. Decent acceleration, tricky in sudden turns – if you're a good flyer, she'll become part of you, but she'll take you for a ride in more ways than one if you don't show her who's boss. Not a type of broom I'd recommend for a beginner."

"Did you ever see Nova fly it?" asked Harry curiously.

"No, and I think I would have remembered," replied Fleet definitively. "It would have stood out among the school brooms and the newer brooms students use if they don't like the school's supply."

Harry dreaded the next set of interviews, Nova's classmates. One by one they came to his temporary office. Harry transfigured multiple sheets of parchments into handkerchiefs as he learned that Nova seemingly was a typical Hufflepuff, hard-working and loyal.

"She was so disappointed not to make the House team this year," one of her fellow classmates named Heidi reported. "She was determined to make it next year, and was working hard to achieve her goal. She played on the club teams as much as possible and practiced drills until she had them down pat."

"So this wasn't the first time she practiced on her own?" Harry asked gently.

The girl looked nervous.

Harry patted her reassuringly on her arm. "Don't worry. You're not going to get into trouble. I'm just trying to find out what happened. You don't want anyone else to get hurt, do you?"

Heidi took a deep breath. "Well, normally she'd join the rest of us when we practiced. There are six of us. We just don't get enough flying time to get really good, you know? I mean, you're a Quidditch player yourself." She looked anxious.

"It does take a lot of practice to become good," Harry replied soothingly. "So did anyone practice with her last night?"

The girl shook her head. "Professor Fleet had held a practice session after classes yesterday for everyone on the intramural teams. It was really fun – people from all the Houses and all the years. Well, some of the older students were a bit snooty, bragging how good they were, but at least they shared their pumpkin juice and chips."

Heidi's eyes became shiny and Harry took out a handkerchief. "Anyway, we were all exhausted afterwards and still had loads of homework. We told Nova she was crazy to get additional flying in, but she said she had done all the homework that was due today and she needed to more practice." Her voice developed a hitch. "When someone pointed out that the weather was turning, she just stuck out her chin like she would do when she got stubborn and said a good Quidditch player needed to know how to fly in any condition."

Harry hated to ask the next question. "Did anyone notice she didn't go to bed last night?"

The girl broke out into tears. "We should have! I keep thinking that! But we all just assumed she really hadn't done her homework and was finishing it in the Common Room. If only we'd checked to see if she was there!"

ABSABSABS

Harry slouched down on the guest chair in front of the fireplace in McGonagall's office. "Investigating a child's death is one of the hardest things I do. I'm always afraid that the friends I interview think I want to put them into Azkaban."

Minerva patted his hand. "You're done here for the day you said. I think you deserve something stronger than tea. Ogden's?"

Harry didn't hesitate. "Yes, please!"

Minerva poured both of them a glass. "So what can you tell me?"

Harry took a long swallow. "Another terrible accident. Nova had inherited her aunt's broom and wanted to be just like her. You might want to let Warmson know that many of her charges think nothing of leaving their dorm after curfew. A small cabal of them sneak down to the pitch many nights to practice." He took a deep breath.

"Last night, the others were tired from a long day and had homework, so Nova was the only one. I don't know why she didn't come in when it started to rain, but she was determined to keep practicing. The shaft of her broom, being old, was worn smooth. Nova normally didn't have any trouble with that, but last night she wore gloves. Between the gloves, the lack of friction on the broomstick, and the rain, my conclusion is that when she tried a tight turn to avoid the goalpost, she slipped and couldn't recover."

The two sat in silence, staring at the flickering flames and thinking of what ifs.

* * *

_Please let me know what you think!_


	7. Potion Ingredients

Potion Ingredients

As March passed into April, the school slowly turned back to normal. Only Nova's closest friends would occasionally begin to tear up. The other students became caught up in their own studying, friendships and clubs.

Stephen was typical. The number of First Years who participated in the study group he and Gaila had started had continued to grow, but not all people came every week so it stayed manageable.

The second week in April, a particularly difficult Transfiguration assignment had a larger number than usual of students in the study group. Almost a dozen were sitting around the table practicing the Avifors spell, turning small objects into birds. A few were stuck at turning objects into eggs, including Titus. Ryan sneered at him. In frustration, Titus picked up an egg and threw it at him. Unable to duck in time, Ryan was splattered.

"You …" he sputtered. He stood up, his face red, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. Stephen realized that the others had turned to him, expecting him to prevent a fight.

Stephen turned to Titus. "I think he's trying to say you'd better be the one to scramble even though he's the one with the egg." He turned to Ryan. "Did you hear how the egg got up the mountain? It scrambled up. What did the egg do when it saw the frying pan? It scrambled away. What did …"

Ryan crossed his arms and snorted. "Those are egg-stremely bad. Please, no more terrible jokes!"

Titus took a breath. "I'm sorry. It's just I'm frustrated."

Stephen glanced at Gaila. "I'll help you," she said to Titus. As Gaila and Titus went to a corner to practice and Ryan used a cleaning spell on his clothes, Stephen sighed in relief that the incident hadn't disrupted the group. He was even happier when Titus was finally able to transfigure cups into fledglings.

Stephen also continued to brew under Professor Pucey's guidance. One day, upon leaving the lab, he bumped into Triton Turpin who was outside the door. Turpin reached out but his hand missed Stephen's arm and instead his shoulder bumped into the Slytherin's sternum with a thump. Stephen almost fell back into the room but twisted to fall into the corridor instead. Even as he threw out his hands to catch himself he breathed a sigh of relief; neither Professor Pucey nor his father would ever let him forget it if he stumbled into the lab table or the ingredients cupboard creating a potentially hazardous mess.

To his surprise, instead of hitting the hard stone floor Stephen was cushioned by what he realized a moment later was a person. He shook his head to clear it and turned to see who it was. To his mortification, it was Ophelia Huntress. He pulled himself up, red with embarrassment at his clumsiness. To hide his face, he quickly turned to the door, closing and warding it with care with the charm Professor Pucey had taught him as the two he had bumped into swore under their breath. When he felt able to turn around again, he saw Turpin and Huntress giving him angry looks. "I'm sorry!" he squeaked.

Turpin began to say something but Huntress gave him a shove. "Let it be, Triton. Let's just go. No reason to hang around here now." She paused. "Though you could make it up to us, Firstie. We need some dragonberry roots to practice with for our NEWTs. Do you have any in your lab? Give us some, and we'll forget how you almost ran us down."

"But I didn't …" Stephen shook his head. Arguing that it was an accident wouldn't accomplish anything. "Anyway, I've never heard of dragonberries. What do you use them for?"

"You'll find out when you get older, Firstie. Forget it. It's not that important." Ophelia turned to walk away. "C'mon, Triton," Stephen thought he heard her hiss, "we'll get more from …" as they strode down the corridor.

His curiosity aroused, Stephen spent an unfruitful hour in the library looking for a potion which used dragonberry roots. When he was unsuccessful, however, he mentally shrugged and decided to ask his Da next time he saw him.

ABSABSABS

One warm and sunny morning in mid-May, Padma asked George the gargoyle for permission to enter the McGonagall's office. "Don't know if we should let you," it replied. "You always put the Headmistress into a nasty mood."

"I don't like you either," muttered the Divination Professor. In a louder voice, she said, "Matcha Tea."

"All right, all right, don't get all high and mighty. You have the password, she must be willing to see you." George moved aside to allow Padma to step onto the moving staircase.

Minerva looked gaunt and had bags under her eyes. Padma realized with a start that the Headmistress, who had always seemed timeless to her, was beginning to look her age.

"Padma! I was just thinking I could use a break. I know you're here on business, but join me in a nice cup of relaxing tea first."

After chatting for fifteen minutes about nothing in particular, Padma got up to leave.

Minerva raised a hand. "Not so fast, my dear. I know you still have business to discuss."

"It's nothing that can't wait, Headmistress," replied Padma, unwilling to lay more trouble down on the older witch's shoulders.

"Nonsense! It's been a trying year, but we've had many a worse one. Tell me, what is it that brought you here? It wasn't the tea."

Padma looked down at her hands. "Death is approaching again. This morning I decided to go for a walk to enjoy the weather. As I was circling the castle towards Hagrid's hut I saw a flock of jobberknolls flying in from the Forbidden Forest. I thought nothing of it. Then one settled down on his fence and began to scream and kept screaming …" She swallowed. "It was terrible."

Albus looked down from his portrait into the now silent room. "Padma, my dear, I don't wish to belittle what you witnessed, but surely jobberknolls die all the time. They aren't uncommon, after all. Often, surely, a jobberknoll death is merely a jobberknoll death."

Padma looked up. "I agree with that, sir. But too many other signs point in the same direction."

Minerva leaned back in her chair. "But nothing that would indicate where or when or who or possibly what, I suppose."

Padma shook her head. "I've tried, Headmistress. But the signs are confusing. They don't even seem to point to any particular House. They indicate both coercion and free will, both loyalty and betrayal. I almost didn't come to you because sometimes they even refer to past events, but more often recently they've suggested future happenings."

Minerva stood up decisively. "Let me know if you get more precise readings. In the meantime – let Felix know. He'll want to collect the feathers for his potions."

ABSABSABS

Three days later, Felix was looking over the Slytherin table at breakfast when he noticed an unusually tight circle of older student with grim faces. He mentally reviewed his charges and realized one Seventh Year was missing - Hadley Overcliff. It wasn't unusual for a student to skip breakfast, but because of the behavior of the rest he began to get an uneasy feeling. He hurriedly finished his toast and coffee. He stood up, and motioned one of the prefects to follow him out to the hallway.

"Thing seem to be in a tizzy, Miss Oakton. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The prefect didn't look him into the eye. "Not at this time, sir."

"Miss Oakton, I selected you as a prefect because I had confidence that you would help me maintain order in Slytherin. I know you like to settle things at your level, but sometimes it's appropriate to keep me advised. For now, you don't have to go into any details, but I'd like a summary of what has the House so worried this morning." he stated sternly.

"Sir, I …" The prefect almost visibly deflated. "Sir, Hadley Overcliff seems to be missing. But it doesn't mean anything!" she hastened to add. "He's probably just squirreled up in a corner somewhere! With NEWTs approaching, people are seeking any quiet corner."

Felix looked at her sharply. "With the latent anti-Slytherin prejudice around here, he went off by himself? He could be hexed and helpless!"

The prefect looked miserable. "I know, sir. But it hasn't been a problem this year like in years past, and especially recently. Sometimes we still hear occasional snide comments from a few of the other Sixth and Seventh Years, but it seems like it's more out of habit than malice. Some of us even have friends in other Houses, especially the younger ones. But now Hadley's gone …" She looked down to the ground.

"Stay here for a moment, Miss Oakton." Felix went to the door and waited until the Headmistress looked his way. She calmly put her napkin on the table and got up. The students paid no attention.

"Let's go to my office," she quietly murmured to the two as she passed them.

As she sat down at her desk she motioned the others to take a seat. "What's going on?"

"We may have a missing student," Felix reported succinctly. "Hadley Overcliff, Seventh Year."

"When was he last seen?"

Felix looked at the prefect. She sat up straight. "Ma'am, people saw him in the Commons Room just before midnight last night. No one saw him this morning."

"Hmm, Reseda mentioned to me that it was a quiet night in the Hospital Wing – no one at all came in. Is there any place in particular we should look first?" Minerva asked while simultaneously drawing her wand.

Oakton thought a moment. "He likes to study in the empty room to the right just before you enter the library – he likes being close to reference materials."

"Very well." A small house-elf appeared and the four House ghosts floated into the room. "You need us, Headmistress?" the Bloody Baron intoned gravely.

"Yes, there may be a student missing. I'd like all the house-elves and ghosts to search the castle for Mr. Hadley Overcliff. Start by searching the rooms near the library."

"Miffy will pass the order of the Headmistress Cat to all the elves!" The house-elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers.

In spite of the seriousness of the occasion, Felix smiled. "Headmistress Cat?"

Minerva sighed. "Something new, I'm afraid. I was found curled up in front of the fire, enjoying the heat. House ghosts, if you could please conduct a search as well."

"Of course, madam."

As the ghost drifted out, Minerva looked up at the portraits. She caught the eye of a bespectacled wizard with a stylish handlebar mustache and a pointy gray beard who had obviously been listening closely. "Basil, if you could ask the portraits for any information they might have, I'd appreciate it."

After the former Headmaster disappeared from his frame, Minerva turned to the prefect. "Thank you, Miss Oakton. You can go to your classes. I don't want any panic and in any case there's no evidence that anything foul happened, so please don't say anything that would lead to rumors."

"No, ma'am. If anyone asks, I'll just say he probably just fell asleep somewhere and that you've sent the elves and ghosts to look for him."

After she left, one of the portraits sniffed. "All this fuss for a truant student. I hope you assign him detention for the rest of the year when you find him."

"That's enough, Dexter!" Minerva remonstrated the portrait. "This is no ordinary time. Padma has been seeing omens foretelling a death."

Felix held his face in his hands and then looked up. "I had heard rumors of dark omens. I never thought I'd be saying this, but I hope they find Overcliff hexed and bound in some out-of-the-way corner."

Miffy returned. "We sees no Seven Year snake child, Headmistress Cat," she squeaked.

A bit later the Bloody Baron returned. "The child does not appear to be in the castle," he somberly reported. "Moreover, Duncan Ashe reports that he noticed a boy sneaking out of the dungeons last night. As you know, Mr. Ashe was a mischief maker while alive and so followed him to see what his living counterpart was up to. The boy slithered out the front doors and walked off."

Basil Fronsac returned to his frame as the Baron finished his report. "I can confirm the boy was last seen just after midnight near the main doors of the castle, Headmistress," he stated.

"Why wasn't this reported to me immediately?" demanded Minerva as she cast the Patronus charm.

Basil looked away without answering. The Baron shook his chains. "Mr. Ashe is still a young ghost, dead not even fifty years. He still sides with the students over the school and doesn't report as he should. He will be taken to task for his failure."

Minerva gave a sharp nod as she turned to her Patronus. "Tell Hagrid to organize a search for a Seventh Year male student on the grounds and in the forest. He's to report to me immediately if he finds any clue as to his whereabouts." The spectral cat leapt out the window.

"Felix, there's no reason for you to stay. It could be hours or possibly days before Hagrid finds anything," she said grimly. "I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."

As it turned out, it took Hagrid only until early evening to find what remained of Overcliff a few hundred feet into the forest.

"But twern't the quintaped's fault, naow, Headmistress," he reported. "It were only doin' what comes nature'ly when it's hungry, you see."

"What is a quintaped doing so close to the school?" demanded McGonagall.

"The poor tyke had been chased away from Drear by its ma and it were so small it couldn't fend for itself, you see," Hagrid admitted. "So I been leaving out small morsels like deer now and then."

Despite the efforts of the Headmistress, the entire school knew the next morning that another student had lost his life. As Professor Pucey looked out from the head table the next morning, his face became expressionless. "Do you notice, Headmistress? Do you see how the other Houses refuse to respect our loss? When a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor die, they mourn their classmate. I see the other Houses laughing."

"I see, Felix, but I don't agree with your conclusion," Minerva retorted sharply. "I don't see the other Houses laughing at the death of a student; I see students coping as best they can. Remember, too, that students found poor Ned and Nova. From their perspective, Hadley just vanished."

Bill Weasley leaned forward. "Plus, splinching and broom accidents can happen to anyone at any time. Walking into the Forbidden Forest? That's preventable."

"So it's Hadley's fault Hagrid was feeding a dangerous creature within pouncing range of the school?" Aurora demanded, defending her fellow Slytherin.

"No one is accusing Hadley of anything," Minerva countered. "It was a terrible accident and I'm sure you'll see a big crowd at the memorial service tomorrow.

The Headmistress wasn't surprised to see Harry floo into her office just after she returned there from breakfast to conduct the investigation. "I hope this is the last time I see you on such an occasion, Harry" she greeted him.

"How is everyone taking another death?" Harry replied somberly.

"They're shaken, of course. I announced a Hogsmeade weekend so that the parents of the older students can meet their child away from the scene; they were the ones who are most likely to have known Hadley closely. Parents of younger students are invited to visit the castle. I assume you'll visit Albus and Lily?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure Ginny, Ron and Hermione will be here too. I'd expect a big crowd if I were you."

"I'd be disappointed if we don't get one," Minerva admitted. "Anyway, I have a list of people with whom I thought you'd like to talk. Let me know if you need to interview anyone else."

Harry began be talking to Felix Pucey. "What sort of student was Overcliff?" he asked.

"He was a pretty typical student. He was taking four NEWTS – Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Astronomy. He was on the House Quidditch team, but to be honest if he'd been in any other House he wouldn't have made it – we're short on options, you see."

"What was his detention record?"

Felix took a parchment out from one of the pockets of his robes and gave it to Harry. "Nothing unusual. A half dozen for hexing students, but in those cases it appeared to be mutual and both parties were punished. The most recent was when he was a Fifth Year. Three for mouthing off to professors; the most recent was when he was a Fourth Year. One for carelessness in the Potions lab – he could have killed someone if I hadn't happened to have notice that he had taken out griffin feathers rather than hippogriff feathers for a wound-cleaning potion. If I hadn't stopped him the potion would have exploded. That was this past fall when we were reviewing Sixth Year potions. I expect far better from my NEWT class. With it being a mixture of all Houses, it's particularly important that student remain focused on their own work."

Harry almost snorted, remembering the explosions due to inter-House rivalry from his school days. "You mentioned fights. Did he have any enemies?"

"I'd classify them more as antagonists. Hexing never got to the point that an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing was required by either participant. At no point were deadly threats reported."

Wanting a change of scenery, Harry decided to go down to Hagrid's Hut to interview the half giant. He found his friend sobbing into a handkerchief the size of a blanket.

"Poor Tucker! He was all alone, away from his kin. All he wanted was ter mind his own business. He weren't a mean critter, not really."

"Hagrid, it killed a student!"

"I know, I know. But if the Headmistress had only let me reason with him, I'm sure I could've taught him ter stick ter deer and sheep and such."

"Where's it now, Hagrid?"

"I had ter return him to Drear this mornin' afore they killed him. But with none ter care for him there…" He blew into his handkerchief.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Can I see where you found the body?"

"Aye, follow me." At the gruesome site, Harry almost gagged even though the ghostly image Reseda had left had no odor. It looked like the quintaped had fed on the boy's soft body parts. Harry looked around.

"Did you find where he walked into the forest, Hagrid?"

"Aye. That were a funny thing. The boy walked straight to the outskirts but then began meaderin' and such. He must ha' been lookin' for somethin'."

Harry began to interview the remaining Seventh Year Slytherin students. He began with Jaxon Hawking. "Do you have any idea why Mr. Overcliff would have gone into the Forbidden Forest, especially at night?"

Jaxon looked down at his intertwined fingers. "Hadley was a great mate, but he could be rash. We always teased him for being so Gryffindor. For example, he viewed a dare as a challenge that had to be met quickly rather than taking his time to properly think it out. He always got away with it, at least until now. Anyway, he knew the full moon was still a week and a half away so he didn't have to worry about werewolves, and he said he wasn't going so far into the forest that he'd run into the acromantulas. He said he just had to pick some tripletflowers and was confident that he could defeat or get away from anything else in the forest."

"Did he say he needed the tripletflowers because of a dare?"

Jaxon shook his head. "No, he was just insistent that he get some. His capstone project involved researching means to enhance the nerve-regeneration potion. He was writing up his final paper when he realized he hadn't tested the influence of tripletflowers grown under a gibbous moon compared to those grown under other moon signs." He leaned forward. "You want to know the worst part? He'd found it hadn't made any difference whether they were grown under a new, quarter, half, or full moon. I suspect a gibbous moon wouldn't make any difference either. He died to prove nothing."

Minerva already had a bottle of Ogden's out when he arrived at her office to give her his report. "Another case of a death that shouldn't have happened," he summarized. "Overcliff shouldn't have been in the forest, but neither should the quintaped."

The two sat together in a silent memorial to the lost student.

* * *

_Any and all reviews appreciated!_


	8. Shadows of the Past

Chapter 8 - Shadows of the Past

Saturday began with a slight haze that quickly burned off leaving a fresh scent in the air. Parents began arriving early. Severus stopped by the Hospital Wing to drop off what were anticipated to be the last potions needed for the year. Stephen, alerted by the Bloody Baron that his father was at the school, made his way there. He gave his father a hug.

Severus embraced him briefly and then held him out to look over. "You are feeling all right?"

"I guess." Stephen looked down. "It's not like I really knew Hadley. He was a lot older, you know? But he was nice. He helped me with my homework sometimes, and told great stories around the fireplace. He knew all the tales of Beedle the Bard and had a different voice for each character." He scuffed his shoe before gazing up again. "Da, how can someone be here one day and just gone the next? What did he do wrong?" He swallowed. "And Nova was just a year older than me, and everyone said that Ravenclaw boy who died last winter was nice." He abruptly stopped as his eyes grew watery. Stephen looked at his father, hoping for an answer he could understand.

Severus was grateful that Stephen had been spared from learning that lesson earlier. "Life is fragile, Stephen. Nothing is certain. Appreciate what you have and your opportunities. I bless your mother, you, and your brother and sister every day." He cleared his throat. He had reached his limit of being emotionally open for the day, even for his family. "I need to gather some knotgrass for some potions I'll be making this summer. Would you like to join me? Or would you prefer to stay away from the Forest? We could take a walk around the lake instead."

Stephen somberly nodded. "I'll get a basket." He jutted out his chin. "I know I'll be safe in the Forest with you there, Da."

ABSABSABS

Waiting with the other parents in the Great Hall, Hermione chatted with some acquaintances she hadn't seen for a while. Ron decided to wander down to the Quidditch pitch while Rose and Hugo washed up after breakfast. He loved the smell of the grass. He wished he'd brought his broom – surely there would be a pick-up game or two that day. He decided that after saying hello to the kids that he would excuse himself for a few minutes so he could Apparate home to grab it. The school brooms just weren't as maneuverable with their age and the abuse that they took.

He meandered over to the goalposts. So many memories! Behind the left goalpost nearest the Forbidden Forest was a small memorial to the girl who had died earlier that year. Flowers, stuffed animals, pictures of waving classmates, and a broom were under a preservation charm. Someone had left a beater's bat behind the right goalpost. Ron picked the displaced offering to move it back to the memorial; it seemed right to do so by hand rather than by wand.

Ron unconsciously swung the bat as he carried it. Suddenly he stopped. Something was off. He swung the bat again. He sometimes played beater in pick-up games so knew what it should feel like. The quality of bats had certainly dropped at the school, Ron thought. Maybe that's why this one had been left as part of the memorial; it wasn't good enough to be used in a game anymore. He looked at it carefully and sucked in his breath. It looked like it had been tampered with. His fingers followed a crack that looked artificial. He poked in the middle of it and was surprised when it bent inward. He sent his Patronus to Harry and asked him to meet him at the pitch.

Harry arrived a few minutes later. "Hey, mate – I'd love to relive old times, but it will have to wait. I want to see the kids first. Do you really have something urgent or did you just want to warm up?" he bantered as he arrived at the Quidditch field. At Ron's somber look, he stopped.

"Harry, look at this bat at tell me what you think." Ron handed it over.

Harry swung the bat and frowned. Although he normally played seeker, he had played beater in some family games to give others the chance to practice their seeker skills. He ran his hands up and down the bat. He frowned, turning the bat in his hands. He noticed the same small crack that had bothered Ron and traced it. He stuck his thumbnail into a small indentation and pulled upwards. "Ron," he said softly, "We need to see McGonagall."

ABSABSABS

Stephen enjoyed the time with his father collecting the knotgrass and other potential potions ingredients. Severus was impressed by the questions his son asked – he'd learned a lot in his first year at Hogwarts. While collecting some yellow baneberries, Stephen looked up. "Da, can we find dragonberries here?"

Severus found himself occluding in order to appear disinterested. "Not in this area. Why do you ask?" And how in Merlin's name did you hear of them, he thought behind his shields.

Stephen carefully plucked the baneberry petals and put them into his small basket. "A while ago, a couple of kids asked me if I had any or could get some for them. I didn't remember you ever using them and I couldn't find any mention of them in the library. I was going to ask you but I forgot until just now."

"They're a rare plant with very limited use in potions. You won't find them around here – they need very hot and dry conditions. Who was interested in them?"

"A couple of Seventh Years, Triton Turpin and Ophelia Huntress. They're good friends with each other even though Turpin is a Gryffindor and Huntress is a Ravenclaw. They like potions – they've asked me about them more than once."

"It sounds like they might like to meet to talk about potions. Say, did you notice the squill bulbs by the oak tree?"

"Where? Oh, I missed those."

When they returned to the castle, Severus gave his son his collecting basket. "Why don't you take both of these to the Hospital Wing and get them ready for me to carry back home. I'd like to say hello to Headmistress."

Minerva welcomed him into her office. "You came at a good time. I have a few minutes free. With so many parents visiting, though, I'll need to start circulating again in a bit."

Severus ignored the chair by the fire and walked over to the window. He gazed into the Forbidden Forest as if searching for something. "Minerva, what do you know about two students by the names of Triton Turpin and Ophelia Huntress?"

The Headmistress was bemused. "Seventh Years." She stood up to stand by Severus. She looked out the window but failed to see anything that would explain why Severus had asked about them. "They've stayed generally out of my sight. Neither will be getting special recognition at graduation unless things change in the next few weeks, but I don't recall their Heads of House complaining too much about them either. Why do you ask?"

Severus turned to face her. "They …"

Before he could complete his answer, the statue next to the door interrupted. "You have two rather rude ex-students who are demanding to be let in. If you want me to pass word to the George to tell them where to go, I'll be happy to."

Minerva sighed. "Which two?"

"The one with a scar that made him famous and his red-headed sidekick."

Minerva snorted. "Excuse me a moment, Severus. Let me see what's so important."

Severus nodded. "Of course. Let me know when you're free. I'll be in the Hospital Wing. Stephen and I collected some potion ingredients this morning that we need to package for transportation to our house."

As Severus walked over to the door to leave so as to give Minerva privacy, it opened and Harry and Ron walked in. "Don't leave, Professor," Harry said when he saw him.

"Headmaster!" interrupted the portrait of Phineas Black.

"Headmaster. In fact, maybe you can help us solve a mystery."

Intrigued, Severus waved the apology off and leaned against the wall.

Harry turned to McGonagall. "Headmistress, when Ron was down at the Quidditch pitch a bit ago, he found a beater's bat on the ground. He thought it was part of the informal memorial to the girl who was killed there last winter, one that had shifted out of place. He started to move it over, but it felt, well, off to him. He asked me to look at it." Harry held out the bat. "Look. It's been hollowed out. There's a bunch of dried flowers, complete with roots, in the hollow. Why would anyone hide flowers inside a beater's bat?"

"Dried flowers? So specific as always," Severus said snidely as he walked over to Harry.

When he saw the bat, his expression changed to one that Minerva recognized as him using when he did not want people to know that he was disturbed. "Do you know what these are, Severus?" she asked.

"Yes, and they have no reason to be at Hogwarts unless someone wants to cause harm. These are dragonberries." Minerva, Harry and Ron looked blankly at him.

Severus looked somber. To Ron's surprise, he didn't sneer at their ignorance. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them – I doubt you'll find any mention of them even in the Restricted Section of the library. Besides being a very rare flower, they're extremely regulated, both domestically and internationally, because they're only used in one potion. The _confundus maximus_ potion gives results somewhat like the confundus charm, but magnified. Ingesting just a spoonful will cause extreme recklessness and susceptibility to suggestions no matter how unreasonable. With two spoonfuls I could tell you that jumping out the window is a good idea and you'd believe me with no further discussion needed. With five, you'd suffer immediate coronary stoppage and be dead within the minutes."

Only the soft snores of one of the portraits broke the silence in the room.

"Is the flower found around here?" Harry finally asked.

Severus shook his head. "No, not anywhere in Britain, or in Europe for that matter. It's also extremely difficult to cultivate. The conditions it requires are too specific. Reputable Herbology Masters have little incentive to spend their time to do so since there's no legal market for the flowers and there's concern they could be prosecuted for abetting an illegal act if they're caught."

"So it's safe to assume whoever hid the flowers in the bat was attempting to smuggle them into Hogwarts, not out," pointed out Ron.

"Precisely."

Harry thought for a moment about the ramifications of what Severus had said. "Is the potion difficult to make?"

Severus rubbed his thumb over his lips. "Unfortunately, not for a NEWT student. The difficulty is in getting the dragonberry roots and knowing how to prepare them. Whoever arranged for them to be smuggled in knows the roots should not be separated from the stem until just before being added to the potion. That's not casual knowledge. If they know that much, they probably have the skill to brew it."

"You said the potion induces recklessness," Harry said slowly, connecting the dots. "As in making a person more comfortable Apparating than they should be, or deciding to practice Quidditch moves in the rain at night with nobody watching, or becoming convinced they need to go into the Forbidden Forest by themselves without telling anyone."

Upset with direction of the conversation, Minerva slowly sat down in her chair behind her desk. "But even if this was a case of murder, was it random? Why would anyone target those three students? They had nothing in common. Mr. Ancrum was a Sixth Year Ravenclaw. Miss Champlain was a Second Year Hufflepuff. Mr. Overcliff was a Seventh Year Slytherin."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You're overlooking the most obvious connection between the three. Their families."

Ron cocked his head. "Their families? You mean the fact that they're all purebloods? But so are a lot of students at the school."

"Yes, but not all them had immediate family member who were Death Eaters," pointed out Severus.

"Ancrum and Champlain had Death Eaters in their families?" Ron looked surprised.

Severus sniffed. "I noticed you didn't ask about the Overcliffs."

Minerva looked thoughtful. "There's a major flaw in that theory, though." Severus raised an eyebrow and motioned her to go on. "Nova Champlain wasn't related to any of the Champlains here in Britain. I talked with her father after she got her acceptance letter. He moved the family here from Canada just after the last war ended when he took a position as a magizoologist for the Ministry. When I asked about relatives here, he laughed and said that his ancestor had been a fur trader on Lake Champlain in southern Quebec. The name had originally been Martin, but his ancestor had changed it because there were too many Martins in the area."

After a long pause, Ron spoke up again. "But if I thought she was one of the British Champlains, couldn't those who seemed to targeting Death Eater families think the same?"

Minerva waved a hand. "Let's back up a step. Let's get back to who was smuggling in dangerous plants into my school."

"Headmistress, Mr. Potter, perhaps you should begin by interviewing Mr. Turpin and Miss Huntress," Snape suggested.

Minerva looked at him sharply. "Those were the two you were asking me about when Harry and Ron arrived."

Harry sat down and conjured up a parchment and quill. "Why them?" he asked, beginning to take notes.

"Earlier today, my son asked me about dragonberries. I wondered how he'd even heard about them. He said that Mr. Turpin and Miss Huntress inquired if he could obtain any for them. When he said he'd never heard of them, they shrugged off their request, so he didn't think it was anything important and forgot about it."

Ron sat down near Harry. "I think I recall hearing about the Huntress family," he said slowly. "They were among the last families attacked before the Battle of Hogwarts. When the Death Eaters came, the father grabbed their baby daughter and attempted to side-along with her, but he couldn't deliberate enough in the moment. The baby was badly splinched and died in his arms. Mum talked about it when my niece Victoire was born, telling us how important it was to appreciate your children every day as you never know what may happen."

"Does anyone know anything about the Turpin family?" asked Harry to the room at large.

Minerva looked grim. "They may not be related, but I remember a Turpin who was brutally killed because he refused to join the Death Eaters a couple of years after he graduated. He was one of the first ones attacked at the beginning of the last war."

Severus snorted. "If you're talking about Arche Turpin, the family put out a good story. He actually approached a Death Eater recruiter. He was asked to participate in a raid to prove himself. He threw himself eagerly into the front lines and was caught in the crossfire of spells. Yes, a Death Eater did kill him, but by accident, and he was disciplined appropriately by higher ups for losing the Dark Lord an eager recruit."

"Do we know if these people are actually related to the students?" asked Harry. No one answered. "Let me firecall MLE and have them do some quick research. In the meantime, Headmistress, would you mind summoning Mr. Turpin and Miss Huntress? If they're together, try to separate them without them noticing what you're doing. I want to know where they heard about dragonberries. Definitely, someone at the school must know why these deadly plants were in the bat."

Minerva nodded. "It may take a bit to track them down. I imagine they're in Hogsmeade." She sent off a Patronus to Filius Flitwick and Bill Weasley, asking them to separately retrieve their charges as she wanted to discuss a House matter with each student.

While he waited, Harry found his answer: Ophelia did in fact have an older sister who had died as an infant in a splinching accident, and Arche Turpin was Triton's uncle.

Harry set up a table in the Headmistress' office. Severus and Ron had long returned to their families, and Harry wished he had been able to as well, when he got word that Ophelia Huntress had been tracked down in Hogsmeade and was standing outside the office.

Harry took a seat behind the table and took a deep breath. "Call Miss Huntress in."

Ophelia stepped into the office, looking confused. "You wanted to see me, Headmistress? Professor Flitwick didn't say why."

"Yes, dear, please sit down. I'm sure you know Harry Potter. He has just a few questions for you." Minerva stepped back to take a seat by the fire, out of Ophelia's view.

Harry waited until Ophelia had sat tensely on the chair, back straight and hands together. "Miss Huntress, thank you for coming in. As you may or may not know, I've been investigating the unfortunate accidents that killed three students this school year. I was going through my notes and realized I'd missed talking to a few people who might be able to help me fill in a few gaps."

Ophelia looked at him warily. "I'm not sure how I can help you. I don't know anything about what happened."

Harry straightened out the parchment in front of him. "Do you recall the last time you saw Mr. Ancrum?"

"No, I'm sorry, I can't. Probably that morning in our Common Room."

Harry looked through his notes. "Were you in Hogsmeade that weekend?"

Ophelia shifted in her chair. "Now that you mention it, maybe I saw Ancrum there."

"Did you join him and his friends at their table?"

Ophelia hesitated. "Maybe. I don't recall. He was a Sixth Year. We didn't have a lot of interaction."

"Even though you were both in the same House?" Harry asked skeptically.

Ophelia raised her chin. "No. We didn't have much in common."

Harry pretended to look through his notes. "Did you know the girl who died in March, Nova Champlain?"

"No. Besides being a different House, she was a Second Year."

"So you do know a bit about her," Harry pressed.

Ophelia hesitated. "Everyone talked about her after she died."

Harry nodded. "Of course. Are you part of Professor Fleet's intramural Quidditch training?

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Nova was part of the group too. Professor Fleet tells me he likes to mix up the teams. You never flew with her?"

"Now that you mentioned it, I guess I do remember her. Such a terrible thing happened to her." Despite her words, Ophelia did not sound upset, but maybe that was due to the accident having been several months ago.

Harry shuffled his parchments. "Did you know Hadley Overcliff?"

"The Slytherin? Of course. He was in my year." She sounded disdainful.

"Did you share any classes?"

"Yes, but we never really talked with each other. He was a typical … he was very standoffish," she said scornfully.

"Can you tell me where you heard about dragonberries?" asked Harry, deceptively calm.

Ophelia's face turned white. She became flustered, wringing her hands together. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Potter."

Harry tapped his quill. "I understand you've been asking about them."

"Dragonberries, you say? I'm not sure, but I may have read about them while doing extra reading in preparation for my NEWTs."

Harry observed Ophelia closely. "Have you talked to anyone interested in acquiring some?"

"Why would I do that? Come to think of it, I might have talked to the Snape kid about them. He's such a know-it-all in potions and I wanted to show him he doesn't know everything. He must have misunderstood what I was saying," Ophelia replied confidently.

Harry dropped his friendly Auror hat and became stern. "Miss Huntress, dragonberries are a highly restricted item and you won't find a mention of them in the school's library."

"I … I don't know what to say, Mr. Potter. I … I don't know anything about them, except their name … and I can't even remember where I heard that," she replied defensively.

"There's evidence that someone has been attempting to smuggle some into the school."

Harry pulled out a new sheet of parchment and stared at the Ravenclaw. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Sitting up straight, Ophelia vigorously shook her head. "No, Mr. Potter. As I said before, I don't know anything about this so I can't help you."

Harry tapped his quill a few times. "Thank you for talking with me. I know it must be hard to relive such terrible events, especially with your background."

"What do you mean?" Ophelia, who had been getting up, sat back down.

"I understand you lost a sister when she was just a baby in a splinching accident."

"It was no accident! Bianca was murdered by Death Eaters even if they weren't the ones holding her when she died. If my father hadn't had to flee, everything would have been fine. He wouldn't be haunted every day by what had happened and Mother would still be able to laugh. Do you know I never heard her laugh? Instead, I only hear her crying late at night. Those Death Eaters deserve everything that happens to them!"

"Do you know which Death Eaters were responsible?"

"They're all responsible! They …" She abruptly stopped.

"They?" Harry prompted.

Ophelia took a deep breath. "I mean, Death Eaters should be punished for their crimes, of course. Is there any doubt about that?"

"Of course not," Harry reassured her. He paged through his notes as if looking for something. "By any chance do you know a Triton Turpin? I missed talking to him as well."

Ophelia nodded cautiously. "As a lot of people can tell you, we're friends despite being in different Houses. He's really smart, sometimes even smarter than my fellow Ravenclaws. He's good at research and stuff like that. He gets good grades and we sometimes study together."

Harry tapped his quill on the table. "Thank you for seeing me. I may have a few more questions for you; would you mind waiting in the next room for a bit?" It wasn't really a question.

Minerva took Ophelia to her small study, ensured the student had pumpkin juice and a few snacks, then shut the door and put an Imperturbable charm on it. She turned to Harry. "What do you think?"

"She's hiding something. She would never say more than she thought I knew until the end. The only thing that she got passionate about was revenge on Death Eaters, and she didn't seem to care which ones."

"I hate to think that would result in her actually harming fellow students, though," McGonagall sighed.

"I agree, the …" Harry stopped when the statue by the door cleared its throat.

"Sorry to interrupt," it said when Minerva looked at it. "But George tells me the red headed Head of House is downstairs with one of his charges. Should I tell him to let them in or tell them you're not available?"

After a confirming glance at Harry, Minerva told the statue to send Mr. Turpin up.

Triton took a seat. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter. As a fellow Gryffindor, I've long admired your fight against the Death Eaters. You really showed them who's boss!"

"Thank you, Mr. Turpin."

"Oh, please call me Triton."

Harry smiled. "Triton. Isn't that one of Jupiter's moons?"

"It's a family tradition. My parents happened to be named Almathea and Callisto, and my brother is Kale."

"Interesting. Is the same true for your aunts and uncles?"

Triton's face darkened. "My mom was an only child. My dad had a brother Arche, but he was killed by the Death Eaters because he refused to join them. My dad took years to recover from his death. I was raised being told how heroic he was and how I needed to avenge his death. That's why I'm planning to become an auror."

"Being an auror isn't as exciting as it sounds. We spend lots of time filling out parchments." Harry motioned to the pile on his desk. "It can be frustrating, too, especially when you know someone is guilty but you can't prove it."

Triton leaned forward confidentially. "I'm sure you can find ways around that, right, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, we just have to find another witness or hope the person makes a mistake in the future."

Triton leaned back. "That's not what I heard! I've read every book published on the Order of the Phoenix. You guys ignored the laws when they weren't just and then went ahead and did what was right to achieve justice."

"That was a long time ago, Mr. Turpin, and it was only because the Ministry couldn't be trusted. Now when we can't get a conviction we just work harder."

"Well, I'll make sure the guilty are punished. If someone hurts a person, the guilty one will feel the same pain," Triton responded assuredly.

Harry saw an opening and nodded as if in agreement. "I share your zeal for justice. So they should feel the loss of a loved one if they murdered someone?"

"Exactly! They'll feel the fingers of justice. They won't escape retribution"

"What if their family members are innocent?" Harry asked in apparent curiosity.

"There's no such thing as an innocent Death Eater, and if someone marries one they deserve what happens to them!"

"And should their children be punished?"

"An even better revenge. Death Eaters deserve to feel what it's like to lose a loved one."

Harry leaned forward. "Such as Mr. Ancrum, Miss Champlain, and Mr. Overcliff?"

"Exactly! Who knows how many lives their parents destroyed? No one is really mourning their deaths except their despicable families."

Minerva could no longer stay silent. "Mr. Turpin! That's a heartless thing to say, and not true!"

Triton suddenly realized what he had been saying in the heat of passion. "I didn't mean …" He trailed off.

"Didn't you?" Harry asked. "It sounds like wanted them dead, and you must have had plenty of opportunity."

Triton lips pressed together so tightly that they went white.

Harry let out an audible sigh and leaned back. "What's especially tragic is that Nova Champlain, that cute little Second Year Hufflepuff, wasn't even a real Champlain. She had no relationship to anyone involved in the Death Eater wars."

At that Triton sat up. "That's not true! You're lying!"

Harry shook his head. "Her family name was originally Martin. They changed it generations ago when they moved to Canada because they wanted a more distinctive name."

Triton sunk back into his chair. He was silent for half a minute, and then his hands began to tremble as his eyes became glassy.

Harry leaned back. He decided to take a wild stab. "Miss Huntress told us you were the brains of the operation."

Perspiration appeared on Triton's forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry kept silent.

Triton opened and closed his mouth several times. "They deserved it," he said weakly.

"Did they? What did they do?" Harry asked quietly.

"They … they …" Triton stopped.

Harry pushed harder. "So you decided that the students were guilty because of their family and planned how to get even. But they were innocent of any crime, and Nova's family isn't even British."

Triton looked wildly from side to side. "No! Ophelia was the one who did the research as to which Death Eaters had children at the school. She also figured out how to create the situation which resulted in the accidents. It took her awhile to figure out how to obtain dragonberries, but she managed last autumn. We used them a number of times, but usually nothing happened."

"Why did you smuggle in more dragonberries this close to the end of the year?"

"We weren't planning to. Our supply ran out and we were going to wait until summer to pick up more, but her supplier insisted he had to immediately get rid of his remaining stash. Of course, we didn't know a Hogsmeade weekend would be announced and it was too late to change our plans at that point."

"So Ophelia was the guilty party?"

"She's a vengeful witch," Triton forcefully responded.

"Why didn't you report her?" Harry looked at him without pity.

"I didn't think she was serious at first. Besides, we didn't point a wand at anyone. We didn't use an unforgivable. You did a lot worse than that when you were fighting the Death Eaters."

Minerva was incensed. "When we were fighting them, yes! Not afterwards, not in revenge! And we certainly did not target their families!"

"Well, maybe you should have! Maybe then they would have really learned their lesson!"

Harry interrupted. "Headmistress, would you call Ophelia back in here?"

Ophelia was standing at the window when Minerva took down the charm and opened the door with a wave of her wand. The Ravenclaw started into the room but suddenly stopped at the archway when she saw Triton. She resumed her path only after the Headmistress cleared her throat. Taking the chair next to her classmate, Ophelia looked silently at him with an inquiring look.

"I told them, Ophelia. You know I always thought you were going too far." Triton's voice broke. "And you were wrong about the Champlain kid. She wasn't related to any Death Eater."

"You're lying! Besides, don't forget that you're the one who planned how to spike the food and drink! You're the one who created the necessary diversions! You're the one who whispered suggestions into their ears! You always boasted about how brave you were to go against the rules to get justice! Don't lay this on me now!"

Minerva's hands shook slightly. "What have you the two of you done?" she asked in anguish. "You've destroyed five families."

Triton, who had been remorsefully looking at his feet, looked up at her. "Five? But not all the attempts worked."

"You fools," the Headmistress almost hissed. "Do you really think nothing will happen to you? You're Seventh Years, adults. You face years, if not a lifetime in Azkaban."

"But we didn't actually hurt anyone. They all killed themselves. It wasn't our fault," Ophelia protested weakly.

"You secretly made and gave them a forbidden drug without their knowledge, one that caused them to lose any sense of caution. That's setting them up to be killed. If you're lucky, you'll be able to plead Diminished Responsibility because of your age and family histories."

Ophelia and Triton paled as they realized what they faced. Harry stood up. "Headmistress, I'll be taking these two to the Ministry to be booked and for further questioning. We still need to track down their supplier. Can you notify their families?"

ABSABSABS

The next morning, Padma excitedly approached Minerva at breakfast with a broad smile. "Great news, Headmistress! I used numerology this morning, and confirmed it with both crystal gazing and tessomancy – the dark omens are definitely gone!"

Minerva smiled at the enthusiasm of her Divinations teacher. "Thank you, Padma, for putting my fears to rest. I was hoping that this would be the case with the arrests last night." Her smile faded as she reflected on the young lives destroyed by perverted hatred.

With students still excited over the extra day in Hogsmeade and with the younger children still full of the sugar confections from Honeydukes given to them by their older friends, breakfast was as noisy as normal even with many of the students sleeping in. The absence of two more went unnoticed.

ABSABSABS

Stephen got off the Hogwarts expressed at Platform 9 ¾ amid a group of friends from all Houses. His eyes roamed the platform. A broad smile filled his face when he saw his father waiting against the wall. He made his way towards Severus, pulling his trunk with his owl's cage perched precariously on top. Knowing his Da was more reserved in public, he gave him only a brief hug. "It's good to be home for the summer!"

Severus clapped Stephen on his shoulder. "You've done well this year, Stephen. I'm proud of you. Now let's get home so your mum, brother, and baby sister can hear directly about your adventures."

Stephen turned towards the exit. "It was actually a pretty boring year except for the Quidditch club, but maybe next year I'll have more to tell!"

* * *

_I'd love to read your thoughts on this story! _


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